


break a leg

by shakeit_dontbreakit



Series: the sexy bandits [3]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2park, Angst, M/M, Not Fluff, because everything fades, chamwink, help i dont know what real relationships are but im going to break them anyway, injury to both hearts and animals, let me repeat that: angst, part three, the sexy bandits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeit_dontbreakit/pseuds/shakeit_dontbreakit
Summary: Quick as a static shock, Jihoon wonders if it didn’t even happen, if that numbness in his veins is simply a lack of pain instead of too much of it. He tries to trace the branches of cause and effect that led to this but the vacant look in Woojin’s eyes informs his heart of the truth long before his mind can catch up. Perhaps one of the most expressive creatures Jihoon has ever known, suddenly unreadable. He’s never met the person he sees behind those eyes.Alternatively: Dreamshurt.





	1. breakup chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't... good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hurt myself with this but its a good hurt, like pressing on a bruise
> 
> i really like hyungseob, im sorry to trash him like this

The company lobby is clean and bright, with crisp icy blues and matte silver accents. Big windows let in weak winter sunlight, cute succulents sit in little white pots, it’s clearly supposed to feel clean and natural. It’s a little too _cold_ for Jihoon—too _Apple Store_ for him to really feel comfortable. It reeks of recent success (that one band of theirs managed to chart top, that was probably the windfall) and shiny new toys.

Woojin is one of those shiny new toys though, so Jihoon tries to relax, to give the place a chance. He’s read up on the lifestyle and treatment of talent within entertainment companies, and though Woojin is only a backup dancer, he’s still at the mercy of their management. Jihoon loses more sleep than he will ever admit—even to Woojin—wondering what happens _now_ , now that the contract is signed and they… own him.

Co-own. Woojin is still Jihoon’s everything and this co-ownership fucking sucks. Woojin has been here for a month and he’s already lost weight (gained muscle as well, sure, but Jihoon didn’t _need_ that) and he sleeps half as much. His body is still growing both taller and firmer and while there are a number of very fortunate things that come with that, the severe dieting is _not_ one of them.

With a critical, defensive gaze Jihoon scans the impressively stern front desk woman for a minute, then turns to the fashionable media agents and less-fashionable groupies mingling in the lobby. They’re all in tones of black and silver, winter tones, and Jihoon wonders why they haven’t ejected him for the premises for the brightness and warmth of his outfit yet.

 _Give it a chance, this isn’t about you._ This is Woojin’s life and Jihoon is 100% here for it. All of it. Including this uncomfortable robot lobby and the sycophants that fill it.

Woojin is running late, held back because apparently ‘ _their manager has no clue how to wrap an ankle, ill be like ten minutes’_ and Jihoon sighs as he unlocks his phone and looks at the text again. He hasn’t responded yet and wonders if it’s even worth it to do so.

Eventually he sends an acknowledgement ( _no prob i find your field medic tendencies rather charming ;D_ ) and melts more into the hard leather chair he’s lounging in. It’s not comfortable but Jihoon has to give it a chance. For Woojin.

“A-ah! You’re… are you him?” A sweet voice bubbles from over his shoulder, and Jihoon cranes his neck up to see a sharp jawline and mess of dark hair. After a quick, nervous laugh the man apologizes, bows, and walks around Jihoon’s chair, eventually plopping down into the one opposite him.

Eyes tracking him the whole time, Jihoon tightens his jaw a bit, suddenly wary. He thinks this might be one of the boys in the group Woojin is backing up, the one that’s their age. Hyung… seok? He’s incredibly handsome, pale, with big beady eyes and a strong body hidden under a charming gangliness.

He’s a threat. A very attractive and probably talented threat.

“I’m me.” Jihoon replies shortly.

He laughs brightly before freezing as though he realizes he was too loud. “Ah, yeah, I mean, you’re Jihoon, right? Woojinnie’s…?”

“Boyfriend.”

“Waah, wow.  _Wow,_  you’re really handsome, even more than Woojin said...” He awes, and Jihoon blushes in discomfort. “Oh, sorry, here I am just spilling words on you without—I’m Hyungseob, 99 line! Woojin is a really good guy, he’s always helping me out with, well, everything really.”

Oh? Jihoon nods, weighing his phone in his hand for lack of anything else to do. He tosses it to his other hand lightly, realizing that he kind of missed the window to respond to Hyungseob’s flattery.

“N-not just me though, oh my god. Like right now he’s wrapping up poor Euiwoong’s ankle and telling him how to take care of it and stuff. Woojin’s so good at things, you know?”

Jihoon does know that, thank you Hyungseob. “He’s the best person you’ll ever know.”

If that was, say, laced with venom, Jihoon can’t help but feel a bit entitled to it. Woojin is _his_ best person and that’s that. He’s incredible in so many ways and Hyungseob will never know that like Jihoon does.

Jihoon doesn’t often get territorial but there’s something about how purely Hyungseob admires (read: crushes on) Woojin reminds him of Guanlin two years ago. Is this what Woojin went through? Fire and ice and immature jealousy? Jihoon makes a mental note to apologize to him later for underestimating the feelings involved. This is awful.

It figures that the Guanlin thing was always bound to come around and bite him in the ass, Jihoon just didn’t know that bite would hurt so much. He checks his phone and flinches minutely when he sees that Woojin hasn’t responded yet. Right, he’s taking care of some poor pretty boy, because that’s what he _does._

“I don’t doubt that. You’re very lucky to have him.” Hyungseob is _beaming_ and he probably has no clue how passive aggressive those words are. “I’ve only known him for a month but he’s already someone I can rely on. He takes care of me very well.”

What the hell is this? Does this kid _want_ to get hit? “Are we just going to keep complimenting Woojin back and forth? Play some praise ping-pong?”

Hyungseob laughs and Jihoon is momentarily blown away by how impregnable that shield of sunshine really is. It’s almost inspiring. “Ah, no, I have ulterior motives here. Woojinie said you were waiting in the lobby so I thought I’d come introduce myself. Hi.”

“... Hi."

~ 

“Oh my _god_ just pick up your damn phone, Jihoon.” Woojin growls quietly, running a hand down his face. It’s not urgent or anything but Jihoon hasn’t returned his last two calls and Woojin just _misses_ him. It’s a little (definitely, completely) lame but Woojin isn't used to being as alone as he’s been recently and he just _knows_ hearing Jihoon’s voice will help, even if it’s just a little.

Today was miserable. A perfect storm of misfortunes and fuck ups, ending with a bad slash of floor burn on his knee. It burns, it stings, and so do his eyes. _I’m crying? Really?_ If Woojin could just, he doesn’t even know, listen to Jihoon talk about biomes and wolf population metrics—just hearing the familiar twist of the tongue over stupid scientific lingo would make him feel better.

The call goes to voicemail and Woojin doesn’t bother to leave one. Jihoon is probably doing something important, running with wolves or whatever his honors project is actually about—Woojin doesn’t know anymore because Jihoon keeps switching his thesis and Woojin hasn’t bothered to bring it up in a while. It’s pretty late but Jihoon’s a bit of a night owl anyway so by rights he should be awake. Jihoon doesn’t really care to talk on phones but he always picks up or at least gets back to him quickly.  

What is happening to them? It’s only been a few days but they’ve been _bad_ days and Jihoon hasn’t even connected with him in favor of doing whatever with the sanctuary. Those fucking wolves are more important than him, and have been for days. That’s not right. What’s even less right is that Woojin is jealous of a pack of wolves.

“Hey, so, I’m going to bed.”

Woojin looks up from the phone in his hand to see Hyungseob pop his head out from the door to one of the dorm bedrooms. The two had stayed late, Woojin leading Hyungseob through the choreography he’s still afraid of (mastering parts of a dance _he’ll_ never do, but that’s not Hyungseob’s fault) and since the band’s dorm is only a few minutes away from the company, he offered their couch so Woojin wouldn’t have to go all the way home.

The couch is not uncomfortable but it’s overdue for a good cleaning. Woojin has to crunch up a bit in order to fit but the cushions are soft but he’s so tired he’s getting teary-eyed and a pillow is a pillow. “G’night Hyungseob.”

His friend stifles a huge yawn before smiling deeply. “See ya in the morning. Let’s get breakfast before heading in?”

“Aye aye,” Woojin salutes him tiredly, tucking his borrowed blanket tighter around himself. With a little laugh Hyungseob shuts off the living room light and in the darkness Woojin finally manages to take a deep, stable breath.

He misses Jihoon, he misses his—their—dog and he even misses the cold, creaky apartment Woojin almost moved into with Jihoon. But that was before Woojin got into Brand New Music, before the dream he kept in his back pocket suddenly manifested.

Woojin is half-asleep when his phone glows up, far too close to his face. He jumps away,  knocking the phone away in the process. Without missing a beat he snatches it from where it fell and tries to focus on the bright screen. It’s Jihoon.

He picks it up immediately, imbued with a jolt of energy that sends him into the dorm kitchen, away from the rooms of sleeping boy band members. “Jihoon! Thank fucking god. I just, I really needed… are you okay?”

Jihoon hasn’t said anything yet, but something’s wrong. That’s a bad silence if Woojin has ever heard one. “Hey, talk to me. I want to hear your voice.”

 _“They s-shot her.”_ Jihoon whispers.

 _What._ “They… who shot...?”

 _“Hunters. They shot her in the head and then they shot her pup—he almost… I’m sorry, this has just been_ —”

Holy shit, this is _real._  Woojin instantly regrets his ill-wishes towards the wolves as he pieces together the story based on Jihoon’s fragments. “—hey, babe, just breathe okay? Don’t even worry about not getting back to me, this is... are you okay?”

_“N-not really. Or, yes? The pup is gonna live but he’s never going to be a good… wolf.”_

“It’s okay to not be okay, Jihoon.” Woojin reminds him.

_“No, it’s Ahri that’s not okay. She’s fucking DEAD, Woojin, and what’s little Ez going to do without the use of his back legs, huh? He can’t be a WOLF a-anymore.”_

Woojin is thrown for a short second before remembering that Jihoon named the— _his_ —wolves after League of Legends characters. “Yeah, okay, but Jihoon, are _you_ —”

Jihoon’s still too worked up to listen to him. _“We’re going to sue the FUCK out of them, Woojin, I already talked to Sungwoon-hyung and he thinks we have a hell of a case here.”_ Jihoon takes a deep, rattling breath before he continues. “ _I… I’m sorry I’ve just been with the pup through surgery and he’s still not waking up yet a-and it’s... Fuck, sorry. How are you?”_

Woojin has a skinned knee and he’s sleeping over at Hyungseob’s place because he’s too tired to go all the way home. These are things that do _not_ measure up to the fact that Jihoon’s two favorite wolves were fatally assaulted by the species Jihoon hates the most. “I’m good, going through a lot with the extra stages but, seriously? Jihoon, when is the last time you’ve slept?”

_“That’s a stupid question. Before Ahri was murdered.”_

What is Woojin supposed to do here? They’re hours apart, living in completely different worlds with different priorities. “What… Jihoon what can I do for you? I can’t… What do you need?”

_“I… I don’t have an answer for you. It’s just… god your voice is already making me feel better. Sorry.”_

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Woojin reminds, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize for needing me, Jihoon. I assure you the feeling is mutual. I love you, all of you, even your aggravating tendency to diminish your own needs.”

_“Hoo, straight to the big guns, huh? This is followed up by a request to properly feed myself and get some rest, right? Well, you ARE right. I needed to sleep fucking yesterday…”_

Jihoon trails off and Woojin gives him the time to continue his point. _“I love you too, Woojin. More than my wolves.”_

And yes, he wouldn’t be Jihoon if he couldn’t accidentally hone in on the source of Woojn’s insecurity after thinking about it for less than a heartbeat. “What’s this all of the sudden?”

Jihoon hums to himself deeply. _“I just… I don’t know. We’re okay, right? Us?”_

“Of course.” Woojin answers, not as sure as he’d like to be.

~ 

Woojin’s eyes are alien, confusing, as are the words that fall out of his mouth.

“We can’t keep doing this, Jihoon.” 

It’s rather astounding, actually. For all their petty fights and playful back and forths, for all the high-volume teasing and destructive wrestling matches, their actual breakup is quiet. It’s practically _silent_. Last week’s blistering debate over pizza toppings packed enough heat for Jihoon’s neighbor to come knocking on the door in fear of a domestic dispute, but _this_. 

Quick as a static shock, Jihoon wonders if it didn’t even happen, if that numbness in his veins is simply a lack of pain instead of too much of it. He tries to trace the branches of cause and effect that led to this but the vacant look in Woojin’s eyes informs his heart of the truth long before his mind can catch up. Perhaps one of the most expressive creatures Jihoon has ever known, suddenly unreadable. He’s never met the person he sees behind those eyes.

Somehow it’s like they don’t know each other at all, that they’re not who they are and have been for more than two years. As sure as this, they clearly don’t know how not to be together. They don’t even remember how not to touch—a fact made obvious by Woojin childishly clinging to the hem of Jihoon’s shirt while simultaneously breaking his fucking heart.

“You get it.”

The words are so final. Fatal. Jihoon stiffly tugs his shirt out of Woojin’s tight grasp, focusing on his own fist tightened over the fabric instead of this stranger’s eyes. “I get it.”

Because he _does_ get it. The legal battle at the wolf sanctuary is taking up too much of Jihoon’s heart. Woojin landed a contract with an entertainment company (Jihoon is proud, so proud but looks like that’s just another emotion he has to stifle) and that’s taking up too much of his time. Plus there’s that _fucking sunshine kid._

It’s been two years—enough time to fight, to miscommunicate and jump to conclusions. There were cracks that only grew with the pressure on both of them, spreading and weakening in equal measure like thin ice.

Like the ice crystals forming in the corners of the windows in Jihoon’s poorly-insulated apartment. They draw his gaze from his hands and after admiring the frigid beauty Jihoon wonders why he hasn’t noticed the crystals before now. He’s only really associated his apartment with the warmth that Woojin (and perhaps five space heaters, but who’s counting) brought to it.

Why Woojin felt the need to break up with him in _in his own home_ is beyond him.

Still staring at the ice in the window, Jihoon takes a deep and obvious breath—Woojin knows him, knows it means he’s getting his poker face ready so Jihoon doesn’t even bother to hide it. By the time Jihoon dares look back to his boyfriend his eyes are too watery to tell if Woojin is still foreign to him.

“S-sorry.” Woojin’s voice is familiar but also diluted with something Jihoon doesn’t recognize. After a short silence Jihoon blinks the tears from his eyes, donning his tried-and-true mask of scientific sangfroid as he observes Woojin with what he hopes is indifference.

He looks like _hell,_ holding himself tightly, stiff as stone as though to prevent himself from touching Jihoon again. It’s like he has to physically stop himself from taking everything back and Jihoon feels like throwing up over everything.

“I love you, Jihoon, this isn—”

“Leave. Please.” Jihoon growls before taking another breath and looking Woojin straight in the eye with as much steel, as much venom as he can. “Break a leg.”

_Why am I being like this?_

It’s sickly satisfying—Woojin looks as pained as if Jihoon actually broke his fucking leg right there. These eyes are no longer the eyes of a stranger and the familiarity reminds Jihoon that _he needs Woojin to get the fuck out of here immediately._ But Woojin doesn’t move to leave.

No, he moves to take a step closer.

Jihoon is having _none_ of that. He takes a faster step and shoves Woojin back—not harsh but far from light. “This is your idea, isn’t it? So _go._ ”

“I… okay. I’m going.” Woojin can’t make eye contact with him anymore, which Jihoon considers a good showing of karmic retribution. Let him feel that pain, let him hate himself because sure as shit Jihoon isn’t going to be able to hate Woojin for this. He can’t hate Woojin, that’s even less likely than this breakup.

There’s still fried chicken in the kitchen. It smells fantastic.

More for him, then.

Jihoon’s mental processes and emotional systems are shutting down like a blackout traveling through an electrical grid square by emotionless square. It’s probably better this way—if his heart was working properly he’d most likely be fuming, sharp as a whip and no less painful. This slow descent into numbness feels more appropriate and less _fucking awful._  

A few silent tears roll down Woojin’s cheeks now as backs away and turns around to start unsteadily fumbling around his apartment for his jacket, gloves, scarf, hat (why does he own so much winter apparel, Jihoon needs him out of here _right fucking now)_ and finally slipping awkwardly into his shoes. Jihoon just watches him, still frozen in place. He doesn’t think his legs would work anyway.

_Stop him._

“I’m sorry,” Woojin mutters over and over, normally dexterous fingers fumbling over his laces like a toddler.

Jihoon flat out laughs once, cruelly, and Woojin abandons the knots altogether before slipping on his jacket and tucking the rest of his winter wear in his pockets before all but jogging to the front door. Still in the exact spot as he has been this whole time, Jihoon keeps a keen gaze on Woojin as he opens the front door but he doesn’t actually leave. Instead he hesitates on the threshold, arms holding his body loosely between the walls of the door frame as though he were contemplating jumping out of a plane.  

Same emotional body language, too. Huh. That’s a bit of a mixed metaphor but Jihoon’s brain is a bowl of emotionally repressed jelly by now so he gives himself credit for at least trying to abstract away the awful sight of the man he loves leaving him.

It doesn't really matter if it's for a completely valid, perhaps necessary reason. Jihoon would never forgive himself if he got in the way of Woojin’s success—he knows the feeling is mutual, it’s the goddamn reason they have to break up.

“I’ll… I’ll see you, Jihoon.” Woojin looks over his shoulder, his expression resigned and cheeks shining with tears.

_Stop this. Don’t let this happen._

“I’m sure you will.” Jihoon bites back. His heart is _bellowing_ at him for being such a fucking asshole but his frazzled mind and crushed spirit gang up against that sentiment in a rush of futility. “Take care of your dog.”

 _Your_ dog. This may be the first time Jihoon’s uttered those words since they’ve been dating. He can feel his own venom by now, eating at him inside. This is claws-out defensive posturing and they both know it but Jihoon doesn’t know how else to act right now. He barely knows how to _exist_ right now.

“I’m sorry.” Woojin whispers painfully, conclusively, before darting out of the door and shutting it quietly behind him.

_Go after him!_

Jihoon remains still, listening after his movements—of course he does, he’s always been hypersensitive when it comes to Woojin—but doesn’t hear a thing for almost half a minute. Then he hears a wretched sob before Woojin’s feet begin to pound swiftly over the hallway floor. _He’s going to take the stairs instead of the elevator_. Jihoon laughs out loud bitterly when he finally hears the sound of the door to the stairwell opening and shutting with a loud slam.

There's still fucking breakup chicken in the kitchen and it smells _really_ good.

Jihoon spends a couple minutes unthawing before walking sluggishly to the frozen window overlooking the street below his apartment building. Snow falls in flurries of tiny flakes, more like ice crystals than tufts of cotton, and Jihoon has to wipe away condensation on the inside of the window in order to recognize anything besides familiar blobs.

And of course—of _course_ —in the short space of time before the glass fogs up again Jihoon manages to see something that jump starts his subdued heart. And then dropkicks it.

Park Woojin stands in the snowy road, jacket still unfastened as though he can’t feel the small blizzard around him. The scarf he stuffed in his pocket is trailing out onto the pristine snow and Jihoon mutely acknowledges it's the red one he had knit for him last year during his misguided attempt to pick up a new hobby.

Out in the cold, staring at Jihoon’s 3rd floor window for who knows how long by now, Jihoon almost pities him.

Almost.

 _You fucking jerk, I told you to leave._ The glass fogs more and more under Jihoon’s breath and when it finally covers the window again Jihoon rests his forehead against the cold glass with a dry sob. 

When he wipes the window again, Woojin is gone.

 ~

“Let me get this straight...” Daehwi purrs, pinning a cuff link to the sleeve of Woojin’s (borrowed) tuxedo button-up. His grip around Woojin’s wrist tightens with _much_ more power than he imagined Daehwi was capable of. “You brought him chicken for _the two of you_ and then broke up with him _shittily_ while he was _in his own home?”_

Daehwi’s thumb is pressing sharply into the pulse point on his wrist and Woojin grumbles, “Pretty much.”

“Anything else? Did you sacrifice a cat in front of him? Did you fuck Hyungseob before or after breaking his heart? Wait, don’t tell me, it was _during_ , wasn’t it?”

“No! Fuck you, Dae—” Daehwi tugs his wrist closer with a silent snarl and Woojin shuts up immediately.

“And you did this all _one month ago?_ ” It’s more of a hiss than a whisper that comes out of Daehwi’s lips and Woojin will admit he’s a little scared now.

“Y-yes.”

They’re in Daehwi’s clean, well-lit bathroom and the younger has spent the last hour prepping Woojin for his company holiday party. He’s been sitting obediently on the rim of the bathtub while Daehwi styles his hair and fixes his sleeves and they had been chatting about Ongniel’s quiet breakup last year at around this time. It’s been about a month since the two had talked, and Woojin realizes he really missed him. He had socially checked out from his immediate friend group (mainly because Jihoon still shares it, has as much a place there as Woojin) which unfortunately included Daehwi.

Woojin was happy for this time with him but as soon as his friend asked, _"Why aren’t you getting ready with Jihoonnie?”_ and Woojin idiotically word-vomited, _“Because we’re not dating anymore,”_ Daehwi’s been interrogating him, berating him, and also making him look really handsome in his tuxedo. It’s a bit of a mixed bag.

“You’re a fucking monster, Park Woojin.” Daehwi shakes his head in disbelief. “And it’s worse because you don’t even see it, do you?”

Woojin doesn’t fucking need this right now, but Daehwi’s instincts are pretty much always spot on, so yeah, he _totally_ needs whatever his friend sees fit to throw at him. Not like Woojin doesn’t feel like a piece of shit every single day, but he’s been running out of things to reprimand himself about and Daehwi will certainly have some colorful new censures. “I just wanted him to feel comfortable.”

“What, when you _broke his heart?_ No wonder he’s AWOL, you fucking fool! You lit a bunch of candles, scattered rose petals, drew a bubble bath, _and then shot him in the heart_.” Daehwi shoves Woojin’s cuff-linked arm away, nearly sending him toppling backwards off the edge of the bathtub.

Okay, that was a little too colorful of a censure. Woojin winces at the imagery. “You _know_ things haven’t been syncing up with us. I told you that, I know I did.”

Daehwi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you told me that. _One. Month. Ago._ Didn’t tell me, oh, that you _broke up with him_ , which, by the way, _no one bet on._ ”

“The fuck does that mean?” Woojin growls, even though he understands to some extent exactly what he means by that. It’s hard not to.

“Seriously?” Daehwi outsasses him easily. “Hyung, you’re kidding right? _No one_ thought you would be the one to break up with him. Not from the start, not through the Guanlin fakeout, not now—oh, sorry, not _one month ago.”_

That’s getting annoying. “Can you drop that one month shit? I get it, and clearly you do too. I’m terrible, yes, but I didn’t see the need to alert the goddamn group chat about it!” Woojin shoots up off the edge of the tub, unknowingly rolling up his sleeves and knocking off both cuff links. Daehwi actually shrieks in distress.

Shaking his head, Woojin waves his friend off before taking long strides out of the spacious bathroom. “No fucking cuff links, Daehwi.”

“Oh, come on, you broke Jihoon’s heart for this job, you should at least put in effort for the holiday party!” Daehwi’s actual anger is spilling out now, not just his irritation. And here Woojin thought the pair of them had been firm friends (brothers even) for a decade but no, he immediately sides with Jihoon.

Jihoon is beloved, of course everyone would side with him.

Woojin wants to smack himself as soon as he thinks this, as soon as he draws battle lines between he and Jihoon. This isn’t a fucking divorce and Daehwi is entitled and welcomed to his opinions, but it’s not very often that they aren’t completely in each others’ corners. Woojin makes it to Daehwi’s kitchen and rifles through the fridge for a beer before before sighing deeply and dramatically. “I should have known, you only have half a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Whose kitchen did I think this was, of course you have half a bottle of Grig...”

He grabs it anyway, pulling out the cork with a deep pop.

“You want to be in _Jihoon’s_ kitchen.” Daehwi growls, having followed him to the fridge and is now reaching on his tiptoes for two wine glasses in a cupboard. “With his boujie beer and beef jerky drawer. You know, where you fucking belong.”

Woojin raises the open wine bottle at Daehwi and neither of them miss the tremor in his hand. With a sad sigh, Daehwi softens, slouches his shoulders, and lazily holds out the glasses for Woojin to pour. Neither speak until Woojin expertfully (an ex-baby ex-bartender, the thought hurts more than it should) pours the rest of the wine into two equal portions.

“I get it.” Daehwi admits, holding the glass to his nose for a sniff. Woojin mimics the action mockingly but the younger just snorts and swirls his glass before continuing. “This is your future. This has been your dream since before I’ve known you. It’s why you moved into the city, it’s why you took over Daniel’s crew and worked so hard at Jisung’s place. I fucking get that."

Nodding along cautiously, Woojin waits for the backhand. It doesn’t take long.

“But you’re a blind fucking fool, Park Woojin, if you’re trying to convince yourself that Jihoon isn’t a part of that dream.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in an attempt to not write fluff i managed not to write fluff. i actually didnt see that coming.
> 
> swing by the ol [twitter](https://twitter.com/tinylittlebell)-dee-doo


	2. break another leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get... worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit get ready

It’s an impressive spread, really, though that’s what you get when you pair up Jisung’s sophisticated restaurant chops and Sungwoon’s ever-increasing bank account. There’s a medley of Jihoon’s favorite dishes (catered, of course, the power cousins do not _cook_ ) spread over two tables covered with black silk tablecloths. There are even a few cacti acting as centerpieces, as though Jihoon needed to be reminded that he's a prickly little monster himself. He secretly loves it.

Jisung has brought his portable bar—a large black leather picnic basket filled with the high shelf quality he only shares during truly special occasions. Sungwoon’s posh-ass apartment always carries the subtle scent of _nouveau riche_ and despite the exposed-brick walls and wide windows that go from ceiling to floor, Jihoon always feels comfortable here. He even feels a little at home within the lightwood and brick aesthetic. 

It's all warm, welcoming, and _completely obvious._

“Nope.” Jihoon has only taken one step into Sungwoon’s apartment so far and he retracts it pointedly. “Fuck you, hyungs, I don’t need an intervention.”

Jisung grabs Jihoon’s elbow from behind and forces him forward. “This isn’t an intervention, it’s a gathering.”

“If it helps, I had an intervention with him about this intervention with you.” Sungwoon calls from the kitchen before shuffling out into view with a number of delicate bar glasses. “But like he said this _isn’t_ an intervention. It’s a gathering.”

Yes, Jihoon loves his cousins very much but this is bullshit and he digs his heels in against Jisung’s pushing. “I don’t have time for a fucking Entmoot.”

The reference passes without any recognition from them and Jihoon sighs deeply, pressing his fingers against his temples. Woojin would have gotten that joke, and as soon as this understanding resolves in his heart Jihoon submits to Jisung’s shoving. It’s been six weeks since the breakup chicken, and Jihoon has been taking on all possible tasks to deal with it. He’s knowingly running himself ragged because every moment spent doing something is better than the _silence_. But he knows all the activity doesn’t help. His heart is quiet now. His life is quiet and he doesn’t feel like letting anyone in, thank you very much, even the people who are already in it.

“You have time to eat your favorite foods though, I’m sure.” Jisung assures, linking elbows with Jihoon as he tugs him further into the dining room. It all smells amazing and Jihoon notes with another blip on his Woojin Radar that there is a decided lack of fried chicken.

He can’t help but be grateful to them for that, at least. The absence of the breakup chicken is about as apparent as its actual presence would be (and they probably know that) but the sentiment comes from a good place.

“Come on, Jihoon-ah…” Sungwoon approaches with a stiff Manhattan in his hand and a soft smile. “You knew what this was and still let Jisung ‘trick’ you into coming here. You came anyway. So stay.”

Sungwoon’s powers of persuasion have definitely evolved since he was hired at his current law firm. There’s something softer in his toolbelt now along with all his sharp blades and blunt hammers. The, 'I know you saw straight through this and still went about it’ works: Jihoon knew this was coming and let it happen. The grave is dug.

Intellectually he knows he should stay. He even kind of _wants_ to stay now that he’s here. It’s almost embarrassing (and definitely shameful) but if Jihoon's being honest, he did not expect to actually desire to remain in the presence of other people, even if just a bit.

 _Does this mean I want to heal?_ he wonders cynically. Is that what that little bud of warmth in his gut means? By all rights he should want that, he should be striving towards a self that doesn’t feel like fucking nothing, right? Fill it with family, fill it with love and booze and fancy catering. It’s only a temporary fix but it’s uplifting all the same. They’re both worried—everyone is, though he has been ignoring their calls and messages with even more vigor now that it is well known that Woojin dumped him. With a strange laugh Jihoon realizes he should let the people who care about him love him like this, that they need this as much as he does.

First step is family—then he’ll get around to the rest. Maybe.

“Drink, please.” Jihoon orders quietly, shaking out his bangs so they cover his eyes. Jisung and Sungwoon both know this physical cue and turn their attention away—the former to whip up something sweet and tart and the latter to start piling food onto a plate for him. “Thank you.”

This last is even quieter and Jihoon bites his lip when his eyes start to water. Wow, they haven’t even started _talking_ about it yet and he’s already leaking. Who would have thought, maybe this is why you shouldn’t repress every emotion you can identify within yourself.

“Look, it’s pink.” Jisung observes, handing him something peachy-pink in a martini glass. “Like your hair.”

And yeah, Jihoon may have compulsively dyed his hair bubble-gum pink, and yeah it _does_ have a lot to do with what happened. Somehow no one’s brought it up before tonight though, as though this intervention is already a designated Safe Zone for Displays of Worry and Other Observations. Jihoon takes the matching drink with a smile of thanks but fails meet his cousin’s eyes.

“You should have seen litigation today, Jihoon-ah,” Sungwoon starts them off on a topic unrelated to Woojin (that’s nice of him). “Their lawyer is on his heels, we’re pretty much disemboweling his whole case. I’ve asked the partners to push as much as possible—they’re really pleased with all the good press this is getting and Noh is a bleeding heart for conservation cases.”

Predator Conservation Alliance v. Professional Hunters Association, colloquially referred to as _Wolves v. Assholes._ It’s an ongoing case that Jihoon took to Sungwoon’s firm an attempt to do _something_ about Ahri’s death _._ It looks like that something might be working. If Sungwoon manages to eviscerate the opposition the way he says his firm will, PCA will win a huge settlement and animal conservation in general will win a small but landmark legal victory.

That’s nice. Jihoon wishes he could be more engaged, but again, that’s what he gets for carefully avoiding true confrontation with his own pain. He’s happy though. Ezreal has been fitted with wheels to take the place of functioning hind legs and, well, he’s alive. The pack abandoned him for his weakness pretty soon after Ahri was shot, one more heartbreak just in case Jihoon needed another one. Somehow Ez seems to have adjusted to his new circumstances quicker than Jihoon has, and that's pretty much the only good thing going in his life.

“Fooood!” Sungwoon bubbles, playing up his natural but hidden super-cuteness. Jisung joins in the aegyo quietly from behind as he takes the loaded plate of food from Sungwoon. Jihoon tries to fight his smile for a few moments but it’s exhausting and they’re his family (more importantly, he actually _likes_ them) so really, he shouldn’t need to pretend he’s okay in front of them. They’re always going to be there for him no matter where they all end up and _boom_ now he’s thinking about Woojin again and tries to backtrack in his mind before catching himself.

 _That’s what this is for_ , he reminds himself. _Feeling things in a safe environment._

“Yeah, the conservation needs all the cash you can wring out of them, assuming PCA actually gives our humble territory any measure of the win.” Jihoon says after clearing his tight throat and blinking tears from his eyes. “Leech them to their bones, hyung.”

“Of course.” Sungwoon salutes before dropping his aegyo immediately. Jisung still keeps it going, but that’s just who they both are. After sneaking a french fry off the plate of food and slipping it in Jihoon’s mouth, Sungwoon smiles quietly and continues. “I’ll make sure your branch gets the lion’s share. You’ll be funded for five generations by the time we’re through with them.”

“I’ll hold you to that, hyung.” There’s a heavy silence before Jihoon actually prompts conversation with a question for Jisung. “How’s Ememoh?”

Jisung’s eyebrows shoot into his bangs when Jihoon brings up something so blatantly Woojin-adjacent. “Ah, uh, we’re good. It’s hard to replace Minhyunnie in terms of reliability, but I think I’ve found a girl with as good a nose for spices.”

Sungwoon directs Jihoon to the couch with a warm hand on his back, even taking his full pink drink from his hand so Jihoon can have a spare hand to eat with. Jihoon doesn’t like the touching (doesn't need it either) but the food is _fantastic_ and before he realizes it he’s hunched over his plate of food on the couch and Sungwoon’s arm is draped lightly around his lower back. Jisung eventually brings some dishes to the living room table instead of the dining room, and Sungwoon loads up his own plate with what Jisung brings.

After a few moments Jihoon doesn't even mind the physical contact but he’s content to chalk that up to oxytocin and yummy finger food.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for Sungwoon to continue the topic Jihoon started. “So this new chef… she cute?”

“God you fucking predator." Jisung comments with a bright laugh. “But yeah, she’s cute. Somehow shorter than you.”

Jihoon snorts to himself and Sungwoon gives him a quick look of amusement before rounding on Jisung. “I’m taller than a lot of women, hyung.”

There’s a pause as Jisung takes a huge affronted draught of his top-shelf vodka. “Sure, sure. But she’s tonight's caterer, actually.”

Jihoon gives them a quiet thumbs-up, cheeks bulging with about three different types of food. “Bdaetuhr, hrumb!”

“Nope! Absolutely not, Sungwoonnie can _not_ date my new chef.” Jisung counters Jihoon with a small karate chop before turning darkly to Sungwoon.

“How the fuck did you translate that?”

Jisung quickly shifts from moody to haughty as though he we're perpetually both. “I speak Parseltongue.”

Surprising everyone including himself, Jihoon bursts out laughing, spitting food everywhere to Jisung’s melodramatic disgust and Sungwoon’s interesting combination of horror and delight. The middle cousin hums to himself, raising his drink between them. “Well shit, cheers to hearing Jihoon laugh again!”

They all clink glasses, Jihoon suddenly embarrassed but also very touched by all of this. His blush matches his hair and Jisung fearlessly pokes his cheek. “There’s that smile. Oh, did I tell you I chased Woojin away from the restaurant a few weeks ago?”

Sungwoon actually facepalms. “Oh my god hyung, straight into it? What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“How did you think I was going to go about it?”

“I don’t know,” Jihoon mutters, hiding his eyes behind his bangs again. “With a semblance of subtlety?”

Jisung scoffs once more, both he and Sungwoon pretending for all the world that they aren’t surprised Jihoon jumped in so soon. “Oh, would you have preferred, _‘I growled at an ex-bartender of mine when he came to apologize for breaking my cousins extremely complicated heart’_? Is that better?”

“A little, yeah!” Jihoon pouts meekly before sighing and physically retreating into himself. “He… really? You know w-what, I… huh.”

Safe Zone, right. He has to believe it exists otherwise it doesn't. Jihoon takes a long drink from his pink cocktail and finds it a bit too sweet for his mood. “You chased him away?”

“Well, he said he was in the area and wanted to see how things are. I mean he did spend two years with me so...” Jisung begins, putting a finger to his lip dramatically. Sungwoon just shakes his head but says nothing so the eldest continues. “I didn’t let him come in though, stood at the front door like a burly bouncer, arms crossed—” He mimes it for them. “—and you know what he did, Jihoonnie?”

Nope. Well yes, Jihoon can picture what happened next without any need for Jisung’s recollection. Woojin shuffled his feet and bent his long fingers back against his thighs, trying to take up as little space as possible while still maintaining his right to be there. Jihoon doesn’t say this though, he lets Jisung finish his story instead.

“He got all small and sad, kept saying sorry.”

Sounds about right. Woojin is a good person and he _is_ sorry. Jihoon never doubted that, heartbreak or not. “Hyung you should have talked to him.”

Sungwoon chokes on his drink a little before rounding on Jihoon. “W-what? What do you mean? Why?”

Oh god, this is going to sound like Jihoon still really cares about Woojin, but that is no way incorrect, so: “Ememoh is really important to him. So are you, Jisung-hyung, his family doesn’t live here and you basically took him in when he needed it the most. You totally mother-henned him.”

Jisung has a face that says, _did NOT,_ and Sungwoon smacks him on the arm for it.

“Also can we stop…” Jihoon takes a deep rattling breath. “Stop treating me like his _victim._  He was hurting too, okay?”

Jisung clearly does not favor the forgiving path this has turned down but before he can do anything about it Sungwoon raises a tentative hand for attention. “If we’re on the topic of Woojin’s pain…?”

“What about it?” Jihoon asks with a strength that surprises himself.

“You know how I’m, you know, uh, on PCAs legal team.” Less eloquent that usual—this must be something even Sungwoon isn’t sure he should say. Jihoon girds himself for what’s about to come out of his mouth. “And we have access to the conservation finances—all of them. Like, say, _donors._ ”

Woojin’s pain plus donor finances. This is—oh fuck. “What—what are you saying hyung, he doesn’t have that money to spend.”

“A reoccuring anonymous donation. Dedicated specifically to whatever ‘Ez’ is.”

_Fuck. No. God damn it, Park Woojin._

This knowledge is momentarily incapacitating to Jihoon so Jisung jumps in. “How do you know it’s from him if it’s anonymous?”

“Well, it started the day you two… you know…” Sungwoon forgoes tact and mimes breaking a stick. “I thought it might be him so I asked around the PCA offices and they described, and I quote, ‘a very distraught young man with severe eyebrows and a snaggletooth’ who made the first donation in person.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose with a pained expression. This is too dangerous for the Safe Zone. “What an asshole. He’s trying to fill his guilt-hole by almost single handedly paying for his rehabilitation. Stupid. He’s a stupid person with a big fucking heart and a tiny ass wallet. Why would he even _do that?”_

This feels a bit like anger? It's been a while. Annoyance is constant but the heat of true anger hasn't been present in a while.

“Because he’s sorry, obviously.” Sungwoon defends simply. “Jihoon… Okay yep, we're doing this now. Why did you two split up? You haven’t shared _anything_ about what happened _—_ I almost actually called _Woojin_ for the details.”

And they’ve come to it at last. The topic of the Entmoot.

“Didn’t have time for each other. Didn’t make time either.” Jihoon mutters, draining his drink and shooting off the couch for another one before either of his cousins can move to do it for him. “We were both busy, my wolves got shot, Woojin is a professional dancer, I have a thesis to tweak, he has pretty boys to look after, and we barely live in the same city anymore so he just… broke up with me.”

He darts into Sungwoon’s overly-large kitchen and snags a fancy bottle of cider from his elegant beer fridge. “Looks like I’m just not worth the effort.”

Jihoon is glad he dropped that last while in a separate room from his cousins because from their bellows of affront it’s pretty clear they would be strangling him right now. He hears the pounding of feet and then Jisung slides into the kitchen, red-faced and sputtering, and even though Sungwoon doesn’t physically join him his shouting certainly does: _"Park Jihoon, y_ _ou fucking take that back!"_

“W-what, Jihoonnie, wait—wait. Wait. Do you… do you really think that? About yourself?” Jisung opts for a softer approach but Jihoon grabs the bottle of cider tightly and pushes past Jisung to leave the kitchen again. His cousin trails him like a shadow. “Jihoon no, you’re perfect. You’re sweet and smart and strong and dear lord, you’ve seen your _face,_ right?”

“You’re funny too, and just really cute and hard working. And, fuck, you’re extremely giving when you care enough about someone.” Sungwoon chimes in, and now that Jihoon is trapped between the two he realizes he’s in for a world of discomfort here. Stuck between a gushing rock and a loving hard place. “And you’re smarter than me, the _lawyer._ You’re perfect and Woojin is a fucking imbecile for choosing anything— _anything_ over you, okay? For FUCK’S sake Jihoon.”

And suddenly the silence is back, the numbness, as though all the warmth he had been accumulating tonight was enveloped in a vacuum. The cold returns to his heart. Him being loveable isn't the _point_. Jihoon isn’t perfect at all and Woojin understood that. Their imperfections were protected by the other, safe only between the two of them. And now they’ve broken up and have to adapt to keeping their own secrets (their own _hearts)_ again when it had been pretty much effortless for them to share in the first place.

It’s just very difficult for Jihoon to explain this when his lungs shrink to the size of fists and his heart lodges somewhere in his throat.

Suddenly overwhelmed by how _not okay_ he is, Jihoon holds himself in place as still as possible and Sungwoon can see from his expression that he does not want to be touched right now. Unfortunately Jisung approaches him from behind and doesn’t know any better than to attempt a loving back hug.

“Back _OFF,_ hyung.” Jihoon strikes backwards at Jisung with his elbow, probably the most violent he’s ever been towards him, ever. His cousin draws away from him immediately, and wow, Jihoon is being a Grade-A asshole right now, isn't he. “Sorry. _Sorry_ , I just…”

After taking a deep breath Jihoon looks up to the ceiling instead of at his cousins. “I’m not perfect, please don’t say those things. That’s unreasonable and harmful, even though I know it’s meant to be a compliment, it’s still just—I’m not. I’m really fucked up, actually. Totally. I don’t know how to _feel_ this. I keep thinking about how people are supposed to behave when this happens and I just don’t _know._ ”

Jihoon studies animal behavior but he doesn’t know shit about his least favorite species.

“Am I supposed to, what, grieve? Why would I mourn, he’s not dead or anything. Grief is... I mean yeah, I guess? Anger maybe, but he was in the right—we were both right. How can I be _mad_ if we were hurting each other for the same reason?”

According to Sungwoon’s expression this is mesmerizing. According to Jisung’s, it’s tragic. Both are probably right—even Jihoon has never seen himself like this before.

“I’m sad? I don’t know yeah, maybe, but it’s only for a moment and it always, _always_ shifts back into the anger that I already _know_ doesn't make sense!” Jihoon’s voice is rising as he continues but he does nothing to stop it. “I’m hurt, but it’s not like he cheated on me or, or beat me or whatever. _Nothing_ like that! We just, we both had things more important than the other. S-so that just means I wasn’t worth it. That in the end I’m not worth enough... What _else_ am I supposed to think?”

Jihoon finally takes a drink of cider to the stunned silence of the other two.

It’s Sungwoon who thaws the fastest. “Jihoon, no. What do you _feel?”_

_Wounded._

“W-what do you mean.” Jihoon looks at his feet and takes a deep breath.

_Vulnerable._

“Please, you know the difference between _thinking_ and _feeling.”_ Jisung cooes, the harmless tone more or less covering up how sad this is making him. “You can think yourself out of a straightjacket, Jihoon, but what do you _feel?_ ”

Jihoon lets out his breath and closes his eyes before whispering a single word:

_“Abandoned.”_

~

“This is the, what, fifth time I’ve bought you food?” Hyungseob sings at him, dropping a tray between them.

Woojin shrugs. Sixth time, technically, but it’s not like he’s funding the continued shelter and rehabilitation of Jihoon’s favorite wolf pup or anything. He doesn’t make enough money yet and cannot be spending so much on something so potentially worthless as a pitiful bid back into Jihoon’s heart.

But he is. And Hyungseob is kind enough to feed him in the meantime.

“Yeah, but let’s consider it payment for me fixing your… everything.” Woojin shoots him, smiling toothily as he gingerly takes a steaming bowl of ramen from the tray and sets it before him. Hyungseob laughs brightly but Woojin has spent enough time around him by now to discern the difference between happy bright and fake bright. This is the latter. “W-wait, no. Sorry, I didn’t mean that—you’re really good already. Uh… hah.”

Hyungseob looks confused, deeply confused and now Woojin just doesn’t know what’s going on. Hyungseob unwraps his chopsticks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not… yeah I do consider this payment for you saving my slow-learning little butt. Of course I do, Woojin-ah, but that’s not what…”

“Then what was it?” Woojin asks, carefully. His Jihoon triggers are becoming less and less sensitive with each passing day but he has spent so much of his time spent with Hyungseob thinking about Jihoon—and Ez, and Jisung, and everyone, really—that he doesn’t actually know the physical ticks of his only friend in the company past the tone of his smiles. Woojin doesn’t actually have a clue what Hyungseob is thinking right now.

“Are you okay?” Hyungseob asks, suddenly more serious than Woojin has ever seen him. “Because you’re not.”

Oh, well that settles it. “I’m not?” Woojin mumbles, with a fake smirk that doesn’t do the job of allaying Hyungseob’s concern at all. “What makes you say that?”

Hyungseob gives him a withering stare, which is rather impressive considering the natural cuteness of his face. “How… ugh, how do I even explain this.”

He’s almost irritated now and Woojin sighs. “With words, maybe.”

Well _that_ was quite the Jihoon-y comeback. Fuck.

“I’ve been spending more time with you since… well obviously since the... you know, him.” Hyungseob starts off rather poorly and boy Woojin does not want to do this right now but he does need to be fed and the ramen is _right there_.

“And?”

“And yet you’re more closed off than you _ever_ were before. With, uh, _him.”_

“Fucking hell, Hyungseob. He’s not Voldemort, you can say his name.”

Hyungseob pins him with another look, this one sharp and almost cold, which rationally Woojin should be flagging as a warning sign but he’s just _tired_. His friend leans back slowly, into the plushy booth of the restaurant and slowly crossing his arms over his chest. “You broke up with _Jihoon_ because you two didn’t have time for each other, because your priorities were keeping you apart.”

Woojin has to eat this soup now before it gets cold, he reasons. He snaps his chopsticks apart and starts stirring the ramen. The steam rises and he hides his face in it, prompting Hyungseob to continue without any comment from him. He really _really_ doesn’t want to talk about… _he-who-you-can-say-the-name-of_ , but it’s probably best that he hears someone else spell shit out for him. That’s what this feels like—a repeat of Daehwi’s verbal whiplashes last month.

“You made the decision to pursue your dream because that’s what you were both doing.”

Woojin scoffs before taking a sip of the ramen broth. Of course that’s what happened. Why does Hyungseob have to tell him this shit that he already knows. His silence prompts Hyungseob to continue.

“That was a choice _you_ made. That you were both too busy.”

“This is the most obvious shit in the world, Hyungseob, and I really _don’t_ need to hear this from you.”

Startling everyone in a three meter radius including both Woojin and himself, Hyungseob slaps both hands on the table, rattling the glasses and sloshing their soup. “Shut up, eat your ramen, and listen to me.”

As soon as the heat rose it falls, and Hyungseob looks sheepish. Woojin takes a bite of ramen and nods his head to get him to continue.

“You made the decision for him, Woojin.” Hyungseob says, heavy with the same sort of exhaustion that clings to Woojin’s every waking moment. “You didn’t talk about it, you just went in and ended it.”

He did _no_ such thing. Fuck Hyungseob, Woojin did everything he could to make it okay, and sure, the fried chicken may have been something of a mercy kill, but there is no question in his heart that Jihoon was determined to prioritize academia as he was to pursue dance. They didn’t even nee— _oh fuck he’s right_.

Woojin didn’t ask. He assumed.

But he assumed two whole months ago. It’s probably too late to ask. What's he going to do, text him about it? _Hey, so, I know it’s been a while, but how committed were you to our relationship before I ended it?_ Even the very thought of it is a trash-heap dick move on Woojin’s part.

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I really don’t, and I know we haven’t known each other for very long but I really care about you. Look, I’m even feeding you.”

The attempt at comedy fails completely and Hyungseob runs a hand through his hair with a sigh of irritation. “Okay, okay. I get it, you haven’t wanted to talk about it since then but you’re a _dancer,_  you know better than anyone that body language can be louder than words.”

Fuck, he’s right. Woojin is still so hung up on Jihoon (his presence in his life, his quirks and weirdness, the oddity, the purity, all of it) that he’s anonymously giving money to one of the very entities that was pulling them apart from the first place. He’s not talking to his friends at work, he hasn’t kept in touch with his other friends—even the ones he didn’t even share with Jihoon.

“I’m not trying to, I don’t know, rub this in or blame you or anything but Woojin, your life is worse without Jihoon in it. You made a choice thinking it would make your life better, and it didn’t. You were a better, brighter, stronger person with him. I know because I got to know you when you were with him. When you would blush over a pictures of his bed head or—or when you would always share Jihoon’s daily animal fact texts? Woojin, you _smiled._ Widely. With teeth.”

Well, it looks like Hyungseob is really going for the kill here. Woojin takes a huge bite of ramen and swallows too quickly. The tears in his eyes are because he’s choking, nothing more. Luckily he can still hide them in the steam.

“You want me to keep going?”

Woojin holds up a hand, giving himself time to chew and swallow before straightening up again and crossing his arms over his arms. “What do you want me to say? You’re right. And he’s pissed at me, I’m sure, it’s been two fucking months. That’s just… it’s too late, Hyungseob.”

“It’s not too late! There you go, off making decisions about how he feels without, I don’t know, _asking him.”_ Hyungseob shakes his head and finally moves to break his own chopsticks. “Wah, you’re such a coward, I can’t believe I had a crush on you.”

What? “The fuck are you talking about...?” Woojin asks, completely thrown by the segue. "What?”

“You’re blind, Woojin, if you didn’t see it.” Hyungseob is smiling sadly but sincerely. There’s a peculiar pain in his eyes that Woojin cannot believe he hasn't seen—hasn't _understood_ —until now. “Not anymore though, not really. Don’t worry, all creatures in the sentient universe are aware that you two have something _real._ Myself among them.”

“Had.” Woojin bites.

“ _Have,_ Woojin. Why do you think I backed off after you broke up, eh?” Hyungseob smiles, still sad and still honest. “By all rights that should have been when I, I don’t know, swooped in?” He pauses to laugh at himself. “Oh god, even the sound of that... but I _couldn’t_ , Woojin. My little crush didn’t even exist on the same plane of existence as what you two share.”

 _“Shared.”_ Woojin feels like a real piece of shit but even here, now, when his friend is admitting to his own Woojin-caused heartbreak all he can think about is _Park fucking Jihoon._

“Shut the fuck up, Woojin.” Hyungseob rubs his temples. Even Hyunseob (sweet, sincere Hyungseob) is at the point of spitting swears. “You hav—” Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by Wooijn’s phone buzzing noisily on the table.

Huh. No one really contacts Woojin lately, no one except his company dance trainer (who he had seen not thirty minutes ago) and Hyungseob (who also knows that no one calls him) so this comes as a surprise to both of them.

They both crane their heads over the table to see what it is. It’s a simple sms from an unidentified number, one that causes Woojin’s heart to drop deep into his stomach. He knows that number, he _agonized_ over erasing the contact in his phone accidentally to the point of memorizing it, which really didn’t aid in his endeavour to delete it within his heart. So really, his traitorous brain probably memorized it on purpose.

Woojin snatches his phone and opens the text hastily, almost dropping it in his soup in the process.

_stop the donations_

His eyes go wide and he claps a hand over his mouth. Hyungseob points at the phone with his chopsticks. “Is that… don’t tell me it’s _him._ ”

Woojin doesn’t know if his heart rate has outrageously spiked or just stopped altogether. While he tries to piece together what the fuck is actually happening right now, he gets another message.

_I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish_

_but you need to stop_

With the third text, he can imagine his fate being sealed with a huge stamp that says  _you fucking deserve this._

“See?” In a sudden burst of anger, Woojin raises the phone to Hyungseob can read the message. “Had _and_ shared.”

~

The talk with Hyungseob, no matter how weird and painful (a confession of bygone feelings followed by a perfectly timed execution-by-text, yikes) nonetheless set some things straight in Woojin’s mind. He and Jihoon had the entire fucking world and Woojin selfishly destroyed it without doing any due diligence. Woojin is still in love with him—never wasn’t—and now it’s painfully obvious that he is a better person when Jihoon is around to adore and show off for.

It’s also clear as crystal that he’s a coward, because he never responded to Jihoon’s message. He did cease his recurring donation and it's been two months since then. It's not that Woojin wasn’t expecting a thank you or anything, but he was expecting… something. Some acknowledgement.

Then again, why should he? Jihoon has the absolute right to be pissed at him, and that's pretty much it. 

“What do you think girl, you think he’s shut me out for good?” Woojin asks softly, looking down at Yoomi. She’s lost a bit of weight and walks by his side with cautious steps.

She’s gotten quieter lately, more observant but somehow also more prone to jump scares. Loyal and loving as she is, Yoomi is most likely reflecting his own dark sensitivity and withdrawn moodiness. Jihoon always said Yoomi and Woojin had a strong bond of empathy, stronger than seen between most dog-owner relationships. That’s probably why she was totally head over paws over him too.

It’s about an hour past dawn on Woojin’s day off, warmer than it has been lately even so early in the morning. The snow has been gone for a few weeks by now but the late winter chill still snakes through the wind and straight through most outerwear. With warmth like this, the first of the plum blossoms may not be too far off. That might be nice because Woojin is privately sure the greyness of winter has played its own part in his dull misery over the last few months and even the whisper of spring would improve his life. Just a bit. Enough to breathe again.

Woojin hasn’t taken Yoomi on a jaunt about town in a while and has to admit he’s missed this—letting good-natured kids pull at her ears and snuggle into her fur, watching her run free across the dog park and hop around other excited pups.

 _This is healing, somehow._ They’re now walking down one of Woojin’s favorite neighborhood market drags, accepting treats from the friendly vendors as they pass. Woojin sips at a free coffee—a well earned prize for showing off with some tricks Jihoon had taught Yoomi—and quietly revels in the morning.

They soon exit the market alley and approach the adjacent street and Woojin stops by the curb to consult his map app and poke through the area for a good place to get breakfast that allows dogs. He taps a staccato beat with his foot, pursing his lips and adjusting Yoomi’s leash handle to hang from his wrist.

There’s that one place Woojin likes, but they don’t allow dogs inside and it’s still a bit too chilly to get breakfast on the patio. He’s about to check the reviews of a new restaurant a few blocks away when everything goes to hell.

Someone shuts a nearby door too loudly and Yoomi bolts in fear, stripping the leash from Woojin’s wrist before he can grab it. Over the next heartbeat she sprints straight into the street and Woojin snaps out of his shock with a bolt of pure panic and chases after her.

He’s too late.

The light turns green. Yoomi darts into the road and gets hit by a monstrous SUV with a stilted yelp that chills him to his core.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pwj is an idiot and i dont understand emotions  
> i ~~wrote~~ felt too much so there has to be ch3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/tinylittlebell)  
>  come at me


	3. broken silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are... stormy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a thousand special ultimate thank yous to the best and brightest [eve ](https://twitter.com/VeryUpsetting)and [jess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse) for putting up with my growling and blubbering. thank you for handholding me so kindly through this angst pit
> 
> last time yoomi got hit by a car what do you think im going to do now huh?

Jihoon is about to die. He’s about to throw up everywhere, in front of the jury, in front of the gaggle of lawyers, in front of all the well-dressed parties of interest hanging on the next spoken words. The judge slowly unfolds a slip of yellow legal paper with his large, wrinkled hands, pausing to read it and look back to the lead juror for confirmation. Compared to the normal people populating the jury, the judge is a man of distinction, borderline too large for the black robes draping his frame. After the juror nods back at him the judge reads the slip one more time.

Oh shit, is that a small smile? _What does that even mea—_

“In the case of the _Predator Conservation Alliance v. Professional Hunters Association_ ,” He booms, indicating the jury with a sweep of the hand not holding the slip of paper. “The jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges.”

 _Hhngg._ “W-wait…” Jihoon’s hands are shaking, his heart is racing. Is he seeing stars? _Holy shit._ He looks to his left to double check that his cousin is in fact there and Sungwoon meets his gaze with a huge, all-encompassing grin.

“To be paid in full to the facilities of the Northwest Predatory Conservation to then be disseminated at their own discretion. Congratulations Mr. Noh, Mr. Ha. And to you, Mr. Park.”

Jihoon looks from Sungwoon in a daze, over his shoulder to see Noh Taehyun, the first chair who led them to this victory, and then behind them in the gallery at a few of his fellow researchers and mentors all of them sharing exclamations of happiness and relief. By contrast Jihoon feels like he’s a body taking up space, somehow behind in reaching an emotional catharsis like the rest of them.

Someone smacks him enthusiastically on the shoulder and the physical shock is enough to propel him out of his stasis. He looks back again to see Guanlin, the hitter, and then Seongwoo who is pretending to cry so hard he might actually be doing it. They had been seated at the back of the gallery for the last three days (every day but the very first day of trial) and took a few moments to weave through the mingling audience and lawyers to get to his his side.

“Jihoon, I’m just… wow. Give me…” Seongwoo blubbers, probably starting to realize that he’s actually crying now and turns away to rub the beginnings of tears from his eyes. Guanlin just drapes a long arm over Seongwoo’s shoulders and shoots Jihoon a look of pure, clear adoration.

“Hyung. Jihoon-hyung, I’m so happy for you.” Guanlin beams, wiggling his shoulders in glee. “I just… this has been such a tough time for you and you put everything you had into your testimony and it _worked,_ hyung.”

It actually worked. This began more than four months ago, grown from a hodge-podge of revenge and grief into something powerful and now apparently complete. His teary vow—to Woojin, but he’s not here anymore—to sue the hunters resulted in a legal fucking so fierce he thinks they may have changed the regional conservation landscape for good. He didn’t expect this to become the machine it did but here he sits, dazed in the aftermath of the overwhelming force this has become for him.

“Uh-uh no, nope, don’t clam up on us.” Sungwoon nestles between Seongwoo and Guanlin and beams from Jihoon behind those thick-framed glasses he only wears for show. “Jihoon this really just happened. You did this.”

Jihoon doesn’t really know what his expression is—still too numb from the verdict. “Yeah… sorry, I’m just… how did we win that?”

“You pretty much won that yourself, Jihoon-ah.”

“Huh?” Well that doesn’t make any sense, how could he have really had that much of an impact on anything?

“Jihoon, you made two jury members cry.” Taehyun claps a soft hand on his shoulder as he moves besides him. _“Two._ Look, that one is _still_ bawling.”

“I… holy shit. Thank you so much. I can’t even thank you enough for this. We… won?”

“We won _hands down.”_ Sungwoon explains with a very Jisung-like measure of maternal pride in his voice. “You were the last testimony, your words were fresh in their minds when they made the decision.”

“Don’t get him wrong, we’re definitely going to exact our commission—” Taehyun tries to wink and the failure causes Jihoon to smile a little. “—but you did this, kid. You brought us the case, you stuck with every moment of the investigation. Hell, you even studied up on conservation law to be of more help, all to bring your little wolf the win.”

Well. Damn. Jihoon might even believe him a bit. “This… waah, this is surreal. I can’t…”

“So what do you say, shall we celebrate?” Seongwoo asks, raising his eyebrows naughtily. “The lawyers are buying.”

Sungwoon socks Seongwoo on the arm for his cheekiness but Taehyun just snorts and nods placatingly. “Yeah, we’re buying.”

“I… sure, just give me a second.” Jihoon mutters, sluggish from the aftereffects of the verdict. “I’m… bathroom.”

He claps his hands together in front of his chest and begins to weave them slowly forward indicating his need to move through Sungwoon and Guanlin to get by. They all part to give Jihoon the room to wiggle past, Guanlin ruffling his neat, courtroom-appropriate hair out of place in the process. Keeping his head down as he traverses what audience is left in the gallery, Jihoon stumbles out of the courtroom and beelines directly for the wheelchair-accessible single bathroom down the hall. He almost sobs in relief when he finds it unoccupied and barely takes a glance over his shoulder before slipping inside and locking the door behind him.

Holy fucking shit. Jihoon shrugs off the suit coat and tugs his tie loose before wandering over to the sink and flipping the faucet on as hot as it can go. After a bit of steam begins to issue from the stream he cups his hands under it and splashes water over his face once, then again. Repeat: holy fucking shit. He runs a hand through his damp mop of more naturally human-looking brown hair before using both hands to slap himself on the cheeks once, strongly.

The sting of his palms brings blood back to his head and Jihoon pretends he can feel his focus rise with it. He smacks himself again, softer, before hanging his head and half-assedly attempting a breathing exercise. After taking stock of body he drags his gaze away from his hands gripping the edges of the sink and makes eye contact with himself in the slightly foggy mirror.

He looks… intense. Not quite manic but there’s a certain wildness to his gaze that brings a small smirk to his lips. The strange leer is short-lived, slipping away in lieu of a slight frown and a trembling bottom lip. Definitely a better representation of his current emotional state. Hows and Whys and Huhs are still floating around his head so Jihoon tries to piece together the facts.

It’s over. He won, he avenged Ahri and Ezreal (the latter actually achieved his own fan following over the course of the legal case and trial) and made a _lot_ of money in the process. Jihoon has spent four months on this case by now, even getting special permission from his university to take the time and treat this legal adventure as course credit. Now that it’s over what is he supposed to do, deal with the rest of his issues? Hah.

 _You’re thinking too far ahead._  The self-reprimand carries a small accented twinge—Woojin’s, _god damn it._ Then again it’s not like that particular soft admonishment ever really worked on Jihoon anyway and he really _should_ make something of a new lifeplan now that the thing he’s been working towards for more than an entire season has reached a successful finale. Well, he does have a bone to pick with a few Graduate Program admissions boards. He supposes he could also deal with his shitty upstairs neighbor vacuuming at odd hours in the night, or address the tiny Woojin-shaped hole in his heart, or maybe he can finally get around to writing his goddamn honors thesis. But all those issues seem smaller now, almost trivial.

Or wait, this is the time when he takes a break, right? Where he takes a breath and lets himself feel this incredible personal victory. Unfortunately the success of the lawsuit feels like something of an empty accomplishment for how small of a part he played in it. The win feels slightly hollow—it’s not like Ez gets his legs back, not like it revives Ahri or miraculously repairs the relationships he’s let crumble over the last few months.

A series of quick, rhythmic thumps on the metal bathroom door jar him from his attempt to emotionally remove himself with his own mental to-do list. _“Don’t worry, it’s not some irate grandmother in a wheelchair demanding use of the restroom designed for her. Just me.”_

Seongwoo.

_“No nosy cousins or pining ostridges either.”_

Jihoon laughs but it doesn’t quite sound like himself echoing around the bathroom. “See, I’ve always thought of Guanlin as more of a giraffe.”

_“Well he’s certainly no gazelle. Let me in? Only me?”_

After briefly deliberating the consequences of keeping the bathroom locked and staying in here for the next hour Jihoon turns off the faucet and runs another hand through his hair before striding to the door and flipping the lock. “Aye aye, boss.”

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He’s going to trigger you somehow. Don’t let him._

Brutal perhaps, but Jihoon is tremendously out of sorts and he and Seongwoo have been friends long enough (longer than Woojin or Guanlin or anyone he’s met in college) to know what series of buttons and levers he needs to activate in order to get Jihoon’s emotions to manifest. He knows more about Jihoon than his own cousins do and shares a bit more in common as well—apparently enough to pinpoint the bathroom in which he chose to hide from his success.

When Jihoon creaks the door open Seongwoo pushes his skinny frame through and makes a large show of locking the door. “Just us, see?”

 _Why is he acting like this?_ Seongwoo is a bit of a nervous weirdo (what do you know, so is Jihoon) but there’s a real difference between the normal goofy misdirection and this strange pseudo-playful caution. It’s like he’s holding a bomb he doesn’t know how to diffuse but does know when and how it will go off.

Is Jihoon the bomb in this metaphor? He looks down from Seongwoo’s smile to see him clutching Jihoon’s own phone in his hand which he must have left in the courtroom—along with everything else he brought to court today, now that he thinks about it. The screen is still black but it glows up again right as Seongwoo raises the phone to eye level and wiggles it lightly. “Your beacon has been lit, kiddo.”

That sounds vaguely sexual and Jihoon frowns deeply, holding out his hand for the device. Seongwoo holds it a little higher and Jihoon can see two missed calls, two short texts, and one voicemail. “Give it here.”

Seongwoo pinches his face, not enough to look ugly but enough to get his point across. “A particular call for aid from a _very_ particular… dude.”

“Hyung, please.” Jihoon knows from experience he can’t get something out of Seongwoo’s hands when he holds it out of reach without tackling or tickling him (and he is _not_ in the mood for either) so he sharpens his gaze instead. The ‘particular dude’ has to be Woojin—there is no one else Seongwoo would tread so carefully around even now, an entire season after the breakup.

After bringing the phone slightly closer to Jihoon’s reach, Seongwoo bites his lip. “Just, uh, so you know. You’ve been in here for twenty minutes now and he started trying to contact you like… seventeen minutes ago.”

Confirmed: Woojin needs help. With _what?_ There’s a quick little flick in his chest like the lighting of a match and suddenly he can pinpoint his focus. Jihoon finds a target for his storm of ambivalence and for better or worse it’s his ex.

_Can I handle this right now?_

The adrenaline rush of his legal victory is still electrifying his blood and within that rush Jihoon realizes that now is the perfect time to deal with that chronic Woojin-shaped hole in his heart. He’s a mere half hour off a tremendous personal triumph and is still brimming with power. It could be said that Jihoon is at his strongest right now.

Seongwoo can see that power in is gaze, in his posture and breathing, so he hands the phone over with a soft, knowing nod. “I’m going to be right outside the door. Just tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”

Smiling softly at Seongwoo, Jihoon nods and even goes so far as to clasp his hyung’s wrist with cold fingers, squeezing for a moment before taking his phone out of the same hand. Gentle promises and quick displays of physical affection are all they’ve ever needed between them in situations like this and Jihoon will always be grateful to his hyung for that. Seongwoo unlocks the bathroom door and dances out quickly, shutting it behind him with a strong nod.

The click of the door closing echoes around the bathroom and in through his ears. The sound still bounces between his temples as Jihoon looks at his notifications.

Oh. Shit. One call from an unknown number (a number he never forgot in the first place) some twenty minutes ago, followed by another call right after. Two short texts from the same number follow this: _please, jihoon_ and _this isn’t about us._ Then another call complete with a voicemail some five minutes ago.

Okay then. The texts are vague and seem to be more like emphatic postscripts to two missed calls than any attempt at a standalone message. Jihoon curses at himself for the dizzying bout of Woojin-related anxiety that claws at his throat and accesses the voicemail before he manages to overthink what he’s about to do.

The silence between them snaps with the first sound of Woojin’s shaky inhale.

 _“I…I’ve been calling. I’m sorry if, if I’m interrupting something—I’m sorry about a lot of things actually but that’s not the point right now. My shitty apologies aren’t going to change anything, but t-that’s not why I’ve been trying to reach you.”_ It’s a voice he hasn’t heard for months but is still so innately familiar. 

_“Trust me—or don’t? I mean why would you. I get it, you don’t want to talk to me. Fun fact: I wouldn’t either because who wants to talk to a huge asshole? But please… just…this isn’t about us, Jihoon, this isn’t about me and you. Fuck, it’s not even about me or you. It’s not us, it’s OURS.”_

One of those words, those reminders of what they still share. Jihoon realizes he’s been actually biting his knuckle while listening but make no move to stop the sharp pain now that he feels it.

_“Yoomi was hit b-by a car, Jihoon, s-shes in surgery, right now at, uh, fuck I don’t know wh-whatever vet is by that one hilly park right on the river. She… she’s… I don’t KNOW what’s happening, they said… something about compression fractures and trauma I don’t know but Jihoon p-please.”_

Yoomi? Not Yoomi. She can’t be hurt. She’s above all of this but is also the very last thing between them that could still be called _theirs._ Jihoon claps his hand over his mouth, hanging breathlessly on every single word. Yoomi is hurt. Yoomi is dying? Yoomi is in surgery and Woojin is a mess.

_"I couldn’t… not tell you. Y-you need to know. So I’m… I'll try once or twice more but after that I'll respect your radio silence and stop.”_

Fuck.

 _“You needed to know Yoomi was… I—fuck, I can't even ask this of you but please, just… acknowledge this. Something. Anything. She needs you."_ There’s a small shuffle and what sounds like a choked inhale before the voicemail ends.

The words PUPPY PROXY come slamming straight into his chest like some drama-loving battering ram, knocking the wind out of his lungs and a plan into his head. He has to go. Jihoon is a bone fide _dog scientist_ (in-training, but still ) of course he has to go to Yoomi. He has to make sure she’s being treated properly, to make sure the vets are as competent as anyone working with her absolutely has to be. The prerequisite for caring for Yoomi is supreme excellence and nothing less. Five bucks says the treatment she’s receiving at whatever underfunded, struggling neighborhood veterinary clinic Woojin brought her to pales in comparison to what she deserves.

Jihoon has retrieved his suit coat and is at the bathroom door before he realizes it, not hesitating to open it inwards. Seongwoo had been leaning up against it and falls backward with a quick yelp without the door to hold his weight. Luckily Jihoon’s reflexes allow him to steady his hyung before he can crack his skull open on the bathroom floor. He laughs softly, shoving Seongwoo up and away.

“I need your car.”

Seongwoo twists his body around, still clutching a hand over his heart from his sudden loss of balance. “You… what?”

“Keys, hyung.” Jihoon snaps, suddenly all business.

By now Seongwoo has recovered his bounce and narrows his eyebrows at him. “No. What the hell? No, for three reasons. One: I don’t trust you to drive my car. Two: I don’t trust you to drive my car.”

Okay, rude. Jihoon kind of gets it though—he’s always been something of a dynamic driver. “Three?”

“I already said I’d do whatever you need, Jihoonie. How could that offer not extend to an amateur chauffeur service?”

“Does that also extend to coming up with a plausible excuse to temporarily dip out of the festivities?” Jihoon asks, grabbing Seongwoo by the crook of his elbow and starting to pull the pair of them back towards the courtroom.

Though he can’t find Taehyun or Sungwoon over the heads of the hallway crowd he can clearly see Guanlin just outside the doors to the courtroom, practically a whole head taller than most people in the hall. He’s extending his neck a bit, as though looking for him. Jihoon hunches inward to avoid the gaze but Seongwoo is notably taller than him and gets noticed by Guanlin in a few short moments. The gangly man relaxes in place when he sees them and beckons them over with a large hand.

“I’ll come up with a good fib, don’t worry. Four years of improv has to be worth _something.”_

“Doubt it.” Jihoon jokes, poking Seongwoo between the ribs. His hyung scoffs loudly but seems to consider the point.

“I will allow this sass only today, Jihoonie. But, uh, just so I know. What’s… up?”

Jihoon considers lying but Seongwoo deserves a bit better than that. Honesty it is. “Yoomi was hit by a car and Woojin sounds about ten minutes away from hyperventilation. I need to make sure she’s being properly taken care of.”

 _This isn’t about us, it’s about ours._ PUPPY PROXY echoes through his mind again but Jihoon bites his lip to distract from the romantic trail this thought process wants to venture down. This is about the dog, this is about Park Yoomi.

“Holy shit, is she—you know what, never mind that. Just keep me updated.” Seongwoo mutters, dropping his voice lower as they approach earshot of their friends.

“Hyung, thank god, you’ve been gone for like half an hour.” Guanlin whines, reaching out for Jihoon as they approach. Jihoon lets the younger squeeze his forearm but keeps his eyes down at his shiny black shoes. Guanlin continues. “You ready to go? We’re thinking barbecue but really, it should be your choice.”

Jihoon shoots a sidelong glance at Seongwoo who clears his throat and jumps right in. “Jihoon needs to go to Woojin right now, so I’m going to take him.”

 _WooOOow._ Jihoon shoots a look of absolute shock and betrayal at his hyung who has the gall to shrug sheepishly. “Ah, sorry, I panicked.”

Shaking his head and muttering aggressively under his breath, Jihoon looks over just in time to see Guanlin’s reaction to Seongwoo’s reveal. It’s pretty much exactly what he expected. Misery, heartbreak, a bit of suspicion. It hurts Jihoon to see but the pain is nowhere near as acute as it was listening to Woojin fall apart over voicemail. It's a fundamental, inescapable fact: Guanlin's dejection is a shame but Woojin's pain is fucking visceral.

“We’ll catch up with you guys later.” Jihoon mutters quietly, unable to continue watching Guanlin’s transparent disappointment.

Before Sungwoon’s confused furrow of eyebrows turns into a full-blown objection, Jihoon dips with a small bow and heads to the nearest exit, leaving Seongwoo to hastily clear things up with the others and eventually jog after him with a little, “Wait up, you beautiful brat."

The car ride is short, relatively quiet. Seongwoo stumbles through some advice about dealing with exes— _don’t hold eye contact for more than three seconds because you’re probably going to start making out_ —and Jihoon pretends to listen while looking up the name of the animal hospital and the credentials of the vets on staff. It doesn’t look good, seems like their best doctor came from a a B-list graduate program and boasts no professional animal behavior experience or even any articles circulating around the veterinary community.  

Seongwoo eventually pulls into the 15 minute loading zone in the parking lot of the animal hospital and lets Jihoon know he’ll play the good chauffeur and stay in the area before receiving further instructions. Barely noting him, Jihoon shoots out the door before Seongwoo brings the car to a complete stop and charges into the clinic to the beat of his own racing heart.

This is his speciality. Coming off the successful lawsuit, clad in a charcoal Armani suit and armed with years of accumulated behavioral and biological zoology knowledge—specifically canis lupus, but add on familiaris to end of that and you basically get Yoomi—Jihoon pushes open the doors of the sub-par veterinary clinic with the air of a conqueror.

“Park Yoomi. Now.” Jihoon calls as he strides forward, letting the double doors swing behind him dramatically. Okay, maybe his bravado is a _little_ much, but Jihoon really needs all the bluster he can muster right now.

Turns out it was wasted anyway as there are no clients or staff in the small entrance lobby. There are four low chairs with drab brown fabric that make Jihoon’s skin itch just by looking at them, organized neatly around a matching wooden coffee table with a series of pet and lifestyle magazines unceremoniously tossed on top. There are fake ficus trees in two of the corners framing a wide (and mediocre) watercolor painting of horses running through an idyllic field of wildflowers. A clock ticks loudly but Jihoon can’t pinpoint where it is.

This place kind of sucks. The accident must have happened nearby, otherwise even a panicking Woojin would have simply brought her to thei— _his_ regular animal clinic. If he brought her to the nearest hospital that’s probably because the damage was severe or at the very least cosmetically terrifying.

He strides purposefully to the front desk and after ascertaining there was no obvious bell for service he cranes his neck forward to double-check there are no staff at their station. No one. Jihoon purses his lips and leans fully over the divide to scan the materials on the desk and check for any indication of Yoomi’s admittance. There’s a clipboard with a check-in sheet marked up with Woojin’s small print detailing the accident and other information but the handwriting is stressed and hardly legible. Deciding to translate on the way, Jihoon straight up steals the clipboard and hops nimbly over the front desk and into the back of the lobby.

As he pushes through the backdoor of the lobby and enters a small hallway (again, devoid of people) Jihoon tries to continue observing his surroundings with systematic detachment but with each step he takes that composure loses a bit of integrity. Cold walls painted a strange color in between cream and taupe— _where is he, where is she—_ uncomfortably dim white lighting— _he’s here, he’s probably meters away, fuck—_ is that Yoomi’s blood on the floor?

Yikes—so much for his attempt at nonchalance. He can practically _feel_ Park Woojin nearby, his energy or wavelength or something else whimsical and decidedly unscientific.

Jihoon stops in the middle of the empty hallway and looks around slowly. His heart is beating somewhere in his throat and Jihoon attempts to filter past that in order to pick up on the telltale sounds of an occupied room. There are small echoes of human voices, one female and the others gruff and serious males, all of them faintly coming from around the corner. Jihoon turns the first page of the report on the clipboard before reaching the information he needs–a small note in the margins noting that Yoomi has been undergoing surgery in room 04 for a little more than an hour.

He rounds the corner before realizing it and charges towards what he can see is one of the two operating rooms, but his footsteps falter quickly when he hears a gruff and familiar _“thanks,”_ coming from one of the multi-purpose rooms he just passed. Oh. Woojin is actually _right there._

Reasoning that the staff is not going to let him into an ongoing surgery anyway, Jihoon grabs the metal door handle before he can take advantage of the fact that this is the point of no return and get the fuck out of here, avoiding all confrontation with the man he knows he's still in love with. After a quick breath he pulls the handle down and pushes the metal door inward.

Inward and straight into a portly middle-aged lady who had just reached out to open the door from her side. In a flash Jihoon’s cold composure shatters and he makes a series of warbling noises of apology to her. The lady is laughing, more or less unharmed but she fans her face sheepishly. “Oh, you gave me a start there, young man. Ever heard of knocking first, hmm?”

She’s nice about their near collision and Jihoon just bows a trillion times and tries in vain to contain his blush to only his ears. “Sorry, ma’am, I–”

“Is that my clipboard?” She has a hand on her hip now, looking mothering but not quite chastising. “Why do you have my clipboard?”

Is Woojin even in here?

“J-Jihoon…?”

Yes he is.

Jihoon leans over sideways at a severe angle only to see Woojin mirroring him exactly in order to get his own glimpse of Jihoon around the large woman between them. She laughs, maybe at their synchronicity but most likely at whatever soft or scared or determined expression is on Jihoon's face.

Woojin looks fucking awful and if it weren’t for the sheer comfort and relief in his eyes at seeing Jihoon here for him (for _Yoomi,_ Jihoon reminds himself) he might have had a hard time recognizing him through the veneer of defeated exhaustion. Well, that’s not true, Jihoon could probably recognize Woojin from the smallest breath, by the briefest glance. He hates that about himself, that he can still conjure memories of him (of _them_ ) with a clarity beyond crystal.  

He’s still in love with the wretched mess in front of him. It’s not like Jihoon didn’t _know_ that but it still sucks. He really shouldn’t have come—it doesn’t matter how independently powerful he is today, Jihoon shouldn’t have come.

Woojin sits in one of the three waiting-room chairs, hunched forward and leaning his elbows on his knees with one hand clasped around a steaming mug of tea. He’s wearing his beloved and ratty-ass black hoodie that ushers in a rush of quick memories—the feel of that sweater on Jihoon’s own skin, the half-Woojin, half-cheap laundry detergent smell that always clung to it. The hood is up, making Woojin’s fatigue feel darker, more miserable. The sweater is black but his blue jeans are not and with a small intake of breath Jihoon notices the dark blood stains on his thighs and knees. _Yoomi’s blood._

“Okaaaaay I’m going to leave now.” The lady says after a few moments of watching them stare at each other in knowing amusement. “—give me the clipboard, handsome, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Jihoon hands it over in a daze, watching Woojin slowly start to get out of his chair, setting the tea on the chair next to him. He stops about halfway up before deciding to sit back down again, this time straightening his posture and thumping his head dully against the back wall with a sigh. By the time the door shuts behind the employee Woojin has his eyes on him, sad and stressed but also restrained as though he were wary of scaring Jihoon away now that he’s here.

“You came.”

Jihoon opens his mouth but the words get caught somewhere between his mind and his heart. He feels exposed and uncertain standing dumbly in the middle of the room but makes no move to approach Woojin. “How’s Yoomi?”

There’s a terrified flash of guilt behind Woojin’s eyes at the mention of her, as though he had forgotten all about her condition when Jihoon appeared before him. “She’s… hurt. I don’t know e-exactly. There was blood. Her leg… mangled, skinned like…” Woojin shivers at the recollection. “They said something about gloves and… rib fractures. Or… I–I’m sorry I just—”

“Hey.” Jihoon interrupts what he knows from experience is the beginning stages of a mild hyperventilation fit. He attempts to squeeze his heart into a tiny box to avoid feeling it swell three sizes through the nostalgia alone. “Hey, it’s okay.”

 _Fuck it._ Jihoon can’t just let him wallow and apparently he can’t stay away either so he falls to his knees slowly in front of Woojin. He manages to restrain himself from grabbing Woojin’s long hands from where they rest strained and bent against his thighs. His main anxiety tick, one of about thirty trillion emotional tells that Jihoon can not just visually recognize but feel in his gut.

Woojin looks at his own hands and Jihoon has to ball his own into fists at his sides in order to avoid something embarrassing and extremely telling of his emotional state like, say, wiping the tear stains from his cheek or brushing his bangs out of his eyes.  _Be strong. He hurt you, he made you feel like nothing and you cannot forget that._

“Woojin…” He swallows thickly when Woojin tenses up at the sound of his own name falling from Jihoon’s lips. “Can you breathe with me?”  

_You’re at the top of your game, you're powerful. You’re wearing a suit that’s two times your rent, coming off a successful million dollar lawsuit. That’s you. Now help the man breathe._

Jihoon inhales deeply and louder than he would normally. Woojin, still looking at his hands, eventually comes to breathe together with him for a dozen long moments before licking his dry lips and shooting a split-second glance at him. Jihoon's personal reminders of his own strength—the strength unrelated to what magic used to flow between them—seem to be working. Sort of.

“Do you remember what the vets said?”

“Lungs. Something about… newmothax… I don’t _know,_ I just _don’t_.” Tears are brimming in his eyes and Woojin recoils away, angry at himself and terrified for his dog. Jihoon’s physical presence is most likely causing him some extra-strength suffering as well but instead of deriving any sort of vindication or pity from this, his pain causes an awful lick of nausea in Jihoon’s gut.

Wait—Jihoon’s observations come to a crashing halt as his brain manages to process what Woojin was trying to say. “Newmo… wait, you… do you mean a traumatic pneumothorax?”

Jihoon’s eyes bug out of their sockets and he scooches a little closer and grabs the sides of the chair seat, mere centimeters from Woojin’s thighs. The flip from _Woojin’s Emotional Dowsing Rod_ to _Park Jihoon the Science Guy_ is sharp and immediate. “Is that it? Woojin, please, if that’s it—”

“I think so.” Woojin meets his eyes with a bit more strength before furrowing his brows and tracking his gaze downward as though trying to recollect the memory. “Yeah? Something about air in the lungs?”

“Yes, exactly. Woojin—” Despite the situation Jihoon smiles. “How soon did you get her here after she was hit?”

“It was right around the corner so… I don’t know, m-maybe five, ten minutes?”

“And that blood—” Woojin flinches but Jihoon ploughs on. “The blood was from her leg?”

He nods. Jihoon recalls he used the word _skinned_ to describe it. That’s most likely degloving caused by the skin dragging roughly over the road or a tire during and after impact. Jihoon may have absolutely dreaded his veterinary care classes but at this moment there is nothing else he’s happier to possess than the dawning understanding that Yoomi is (probably) going to be okay.

Woojin however does not pack the same veterinary firepower as Jihoon and assumes the absolute worst from his questioning. Predictably, Woojin's breathing speeds up again and he starts rubbing his hands up and down his thighs to comfort himself.

 _Don’t touch him, don’t do it_. “Woojin-ah, hey listen to me. Listen to my voice okay? Yoomi is going to be _fine._ ”

“W-what? How can you say that?”His dread is still there but so is a confused flicker of trust and hope. Jihoon has many words in his mental repository, but somehow the only one that pops into his mind at this is simply: love _._

Jihoon breaks out into a wise smile, shaky but ready to prognose. “You got her here, got her into surgery almost immediately after she was hit. Before she could lose too much blood from degloving and before the pneumothorax trauma became fatal. Woojin, she should be totally fine.”

 _Provided these vets know literally anything about animal trauma._ Jihoon doesn’t mention this. Even Dr. Whatever from his nowhere school would be able to save her with that short of time between impact and treatment.

“Are you… sure?” Woojin squeaks with a sort of wary hope. “Actually sure?”

“Actually really very sure.” Jihoon nods a few times with a smile he can’t help. “What do you think I am, a dentist? You’re looking at the next best zoologist on the planet—of course I’m sure.”

Okay, so he’s technically not 100% sure but a traumatic pneumothorax would most likely take longer than ten minutes to be fatal to a healthy dog like Yoomi. Woojin has been eyeing him warily through the questioning but forces out an exhalation that sounds rather like a small laugh.

“Fuuuuck.” Woojin breathes, making a move that looks like he wants to reach out to Jihoon but he restrains himself. “Waaaah. Okay. For fuck’s sake why couldn’t they have just _told_ me that?”

Jihoon backs away from Woojin who has more or less collapsed in the chair now that he's beginning to understand (more importantly, _believe_ ) that Yoomi is going to be okay.

“They probably did—you were just in shock.” Jihoon says matter of factly. He doesn’t actually know how he managed to get out of that Danger Zone without touching Woojin but he _did_ and that’s what matters. He’s not here for Woojin, he’s here for Yoomi.

There’s a soft knock on the door, surprising both of them. In another moment the door opens and two scrub-wearing veterinarians enter the now crowded room. The one in front, a tall strong-boned man with small round glasses, narrows his eyes Jihoon but then turns to Woojin once he finally stands and takes his place slightly behind and to the left of Jihoon.

“Mr. Park, we’re pleased to say the surgery was a success. Yoomi suffered a traumatic pneumothorax injury as well as pleural contusions, fractured ribs, and–”

“Degloving. We _know.”_ Jihoon finishes for him, crossing his arms in front of his chest and setting his phaser to Science. “Was there any nerve damage in the leg?”

The man’s drown deepens. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m his…” Huh. “Dog lawyer.”

 _Dog lawyer? Really?_ The mood is better now that Yoomi is in the clear and Woojin laughs once, quietly. It sounds more like a small cough but Jihoon knows better. He briefly considers stomping on Woojin's foot behind him but then remembers that would be _touching_ him and such behavior is not what he's here for, no sir. 

“I’m here to make sure you didn’t fuck up the surgery and that you make the proper choices concerning treatment and subsequent medical trauma.” Jihoon is the world’s next best zoologist afterall. “Any mistake on your or this clinic’s part _will_ be subject to the legal might of Noh & Associates. Tell me—was there any nerve damage?”

The man clearly doesn’t want to get into it with a small pretty boy rocking a suit he himself could never afford so he turns to address Jihoon instead of Woojin now. “Yes, unfortunately. The degloving went deeper than appeared and even with timely skin grafting we don’t expect her to regain the full use of that left foreleg. The pneumothorax and pleural contusions are under control. We’ll hold her for a few days under observation, and in the meantime we can refer you to a number of leg trauma specialists in the area—”

“No, we have access to better treatment than you can refer.”

Woojin takes a different, less bratty approach to dealing with the vets. “Thank you very much for patching up Yoomi. We’re both lucky this clinic was so close, otherwise who knows. I… Wow, thank you. I can’t thank you enough for saving her life. I’m in your debt.”

“The Predator Conservation Agency is in your debt.” Jihoon begrudgingly corrects. “We’ll take on the entire bill so far and moving forward.”

The second vet offers a rather unprofessional _‘As long as I get paid’_ shrug and leaves before the lead shoots Jihoon one last small glare. “Just settle with the front desk when you’re ready.”

He follows his underling and soon the two of them are alone again, now completely in the clear as far as Yoomi is concerned. Jihoon has a lot of experience with canine rehabilitation (Yoomi isn’t a wolf pup but it's the same general blueprint) and intends to offer Woojin the full resources of PCA—fuller than ever, now that they’re more than a million dollars richer. It’s only fair considering Woojin’s heartfelt but misguided donations to Ez’s rehabilitation.

“You really do look like a lawyer.” Woojin mentions quietly. He’s close enough for Jihoon to feel his presence lingering behind him but he doesn’t turn around.  

“We won. This morning. _Wolves v. Assholes._ You caught me minutes after the verdict was read, actually.”

Woojin gasps. “W-what? You won? Jihoon that’s fantastic, that’s fucking incredible! How long has this—”

He stops himself as he stumbles upon the answer to his own question. This has been going on since before they broke up. “I’m sorry I haven’t been… following the case.”

“That’s your right.” Jihoon says, the words coming out scathing. Antagonistic, even, but he turns to Woojin with a raised eyebrow that belies his tone. “Ez has a Twitter following—it helped us win the case. You should follow him at least.”

There’s a bad pause where Woojin nods dazedly, stuck surveying the damage of Tropical Storm Yoomi while simultaneously processing the sudden landfall of Hurricane Jihoon. Jihoon wants to see Yoomi but now that the good news has officially come the most apparent topic left to address is the very present _thing_ between them. Jihoon lingers frozen between flight and fight, watching Woojin’s expression evolve and taking note of the shifting of his shoulder muscles.

Jihoon doesn’t know what physical cue he’s waiting for exactly until Woojin takes a step towards him with a new, determined set to his brow. Even then, he doesn't know the best course of action.

He has averted panic, diagnosed a dog, and is overdue for an expensive lunch with his friends and cousin. Woojin on the other hand looks like shit, covered in dry blood, sweat, tears, and _feelings._ He’s a fucking mess but the energy in his gaze is shocking, still able to pin Jihoon in place as though nothing has changed between them. The topic has quickly and quietly shifted from _ours_ to _you and me_ , and the Danger Zone that is _them_ looms as electric and unavoidable as a storm on the horizon.

Tension rises the longer they stay still and silent as Woojin takes another slow step, trying to get a feel for Jihoon’s mood while Jihoon just tries to process about seven simultaneous lines of thought. The stalemate breaks suddenly when Woojin opens his mouth to speak and Jihoon reacts quickly, turning swiftly on his heel and charging for the door.

“Jihoon—”

“Yoomi’s in the clear, so you don’t need me here anymore.” Jihoon reaches for the door handle and pulls it down but doesn’t actually open it. “I’ll sort things out with PCA, someone will contact you about special needs treatment and trauma rehab for Yoomi.”

“W-wait, I—” Woojin’s call is the sign he needed to open the door inward and he turns to give Woojin a parting glance before realizing how stupid of an idea that was.

He has a hand reaching out to him, long fingers quivvering in the air. Stress and self-restraint twist his expression further and Jihoon swears he can see his rapid heartbeat from under his sweatshirt. He wants to go to Woojin, to hit him, to scream until his voice cracks and kiss him until they both run out of breath. It's those thoughts that remind Jihoon that he has to get the fuck out of here, now.

So Jihoon nods once, strongly, before using the sides of the doorframe to pull himself through to the hallway and into fast (but dignified) strides. He makes it two long steps before Woojin laughs bitterly from inside the room and mutters something to himself.

Somehow Jihoon knows Woojin is following before even hearing his sneakers squeak over the linoleum hallway floor. "Please wait. J-just, please, Jihoon."

He slows his pace the slightest bit.

"I would like to explain myself, if you're willing to listen."

Then Jihoon stops walking completely. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look guys i saved the dog  
> in return i let myself stall more 
> 
> please yell at me and demand things of me on the 'ol [twitter](https://twitter.com/tinylittlebell)
> 
> please don't be shy, leave a comment, i'd love to know what you think~!


	4. go for broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get... better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have added mxm and sewoon to Brand New Boys because they belong there and no one is going to stop me anyway
> 
> also you all better just read the previous chapter before this i kinda start with a bang.

 

After taking a deep, shaky breath, Woojin begins to speak. “D-Don’t turn around. Or do—that’s all up to you, do whatever you want. Just uh, will you listen to what I have to say? You don’t need to face me or anything, just imagine a bunch of ugly expressions and hand-wringing and then multiply that by _idiot_ and that’s my pretty picture right now.”

Damn, Jihoon actually almost laughed. Not good. He looks at his feet, at shoes so shiny they reflect the wan light of the hallway.

After clearing his throat, Woojin continues. “Please understand I didn’t plan this. This isn’t a trick or, or a _trap_ or anything. I’m a piece of shit but I would _never_ use Yoomi like this.”

By all rights Jihoon should be gone by now, should be snuggled in between Seongwoo and Guanlin and being fed expensive meat and fancy beverages. But he’s here, in a drab hallway next to an old laminated poster of post-vaccination cat care instructions, in uncharted territory with the person who has had the largest emotional impact on him in his entire life. Fuck.

“I know.” Jihoon admits quietly, extending a miniscule olive branch.

“This isn’t a trap, this is just… piss-poor timing. I’m not… you know I’m not calculating like that, I don’t…” Woojin trails off before dropping that line of conversation and picking up where it actually matters. “But you _did_ come. Can… can I explain some things? Will you listen?”

Jihoon nods obviously enough for him to see from behind.

Woojin sighs in relief. “Okay, it’s pretty much just gonna be word noises. Apologies and explanations and clarifications and anything, seriously anything you want from me. You can tell me to shut my fucking face and I will. You can ask about anything. Or nothing at all. Seriously, only as much as you’re willing to give me.”

Well shit, it looks like they’re really doing this right now. Jihoon does appreciate Woojin giving him that out if he wanted it. This confrontation is all a bit sudden, sure, but everything about today feels sudden. All the not-so-disparate parts of his heart must have come together and decided, ‘ah, yes, today is a good day to cross every emotional stream.’

Jihoon nods.

“So—okay. I am a tremendous asshole and I didn’t even see it in myself until people told me. I wish I hadn’t been such a coward when… Or I guess I should have… literally done _anything_ other than what I did. But I care about you _so_ much and I couldn’t… okay, hold on a second. You can probably tell I didn’t rehearse this, fuck.”

“Take two.” Jihoon says, shrugging too stiffly to appear genuine. Woojin probably notices but they’re still not facing each other so Jihoon can't know for sure.

“Take two.” Woojin takes a deep breath. “Okay. I tried to fool myself into thinking that I would be okay without you… mainly because I _knew_ you would be okay without me _._ ”

Jihoon almost laughs at the sad absurdity of this statement but holds his tongue for Woojin to continue. "I... I made the decision to break up without daring to confront you first—and part of me thinks maybe… maybe it wouldn't have turned out like this if I didn’t assume what you were feeling. If I had the sense or guts to just ask you about how you felt about us and what was happening to our relationship.”

_What. What is he talking about?_

“It was—this isn’t supposed to be an excuse or anything, more like an explanation—but it was really painful for me, towards the end.”

Jihoon feels his phone buzz from inside his suit jacket but he makes no move to check it. It’s possible Woojin hears it because he picks up the pace of his words.

“You were pulling away, you weren’t responding well to anything I was trying to do. I was—I _am_ always sensitive to every single thing about you, from you, around you, whatever. Everything, like the way you breathe and how you hold your shoulders and what it means when your hair floofs _just so_. So yeah, I felt every shitty moment of you pulling away from me.”

“I’m sor—” Jihoon begins on impulse and is almost grateful to Woojin when he interrupts.

“Fuck you Jihoon, I’M the one apologizing right now, okay?” Woojin’s words come out choppy and passionate before he laughs gruffly at himself and tones it down. “Sorry, that was—but no, there is nothing to be sorry for.”

Jihoon almost turns around. He doesn’t.

“I knew better, you even told me that you were going to be unresponsive for days at a time and I was _still_ hurt. It was worse because it was you, because of how fucking awful it is to be hurt by the person who can do the most damage. You didn’t even know you were doing it.”

“I knew.” Jihoon whispers, so quietly he isn’t even sure sound fell from his lips. Because he did. Because he was jealous of Woojin’s shiny new life and beautiful new best friend and could barely help but exact some retribution. Step by tiny step, Jihoon answered any (perceived) slight against him with a small prick of his own.

Woojin sighs deeply, not hearing him admit this. “Which is real thick coming from me, huh. I was hurting you just as much with… goddamn it, okay. I drifted away a bit when I first got into Brand New but I _need_ you to know that I never cheated on you with Hyungseob.”

Him bringing up Hyungseob is sudden but at the same time totally on the nose. They never addressed it while they were dating, but here it is. It was always there but now, for the first time, it faces the dim light of a shitty veterinary clinic.

Jihoon stiffens in place and he would be a fool to believe Woojin didn’t notice and correctly interpret the sudden freeze that precedes his flight or fight instinct. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Never, not once. He’s not you, and that was that. You are—” _Present tense,_ Jihoon notes. “—everything, and he’s just… a friend. Someone I needed and who needed me and _nothing_ more. But you didn’t know that because we didn’t talk about it. We never brought it up—me spending so much time with him, or, you know, the fact that it was one of our lurking problems.”

“You’re really just… laying it all out there huh.” Jihoon speaks up dryly.

Woojin laughs without any semblance of humor. “Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe I’m a little fucked up right now but even if I were in a better place, I’d _still_ be so sorry I need to invent a thousand more languages just to have enough ways to say it. But I know you were jealous of him… now. I’m sorry I didn’t see it when I had time to correct it. Even now, nothing has ever happened between him and I. It’s… oh man.”

With a short self-deprecating laugh Woojin pauses for the briefest moment. Jihoon genuinely wonders what expression he’s wearing before he continues. “It’s kind of like the Guanlin thing. A lot like the Guanlin thing. Only you managed to handle that with grace and competency and I’ve been just a blind, ignorant fool. I should have learned from that situation and I’m so fucking angry with myself for not doing so. I’m a fool. And a coward. And a steamroller.”

Jihoon has been holding his breath and lets it out shakily, loudly.

“Are you okay?” Woojin asks, voice slipping from desperate honesty into something tender, almost frightened. “With this? I can rip my own tongue out instead, just say the word. I can stop, I _will_ stop if you’re not okay with this.”

Jihoon balls his hands into fists. “I’m…” Holy moly, what _is_ he? “Haa, yeah, full transparency? I am _not_ okay.”

Because he’s really not. All the power he amassed that morning suddenly feels superficial, as though revealing itself to be the beautiful bandaid it is. “I’m not okay. Sometimes I swear... I can feel something sick and cloying inside me. Rotting. It's digusting and awful and it _isn't me._ I need to fix it, start to heal it. So yeah, I need to hear this, Woojin. All of it."

Jihoon’s hands are balled into fists and he stiffly stretches his fingers out before cracking his knuckles in front of his chest—not to intimidate but because he really doesn’t know what to do with his hands right now. Or his feet. Or his heart, for that matter.

“I… yes, okay then. Here goes everything.” After a steadying breath Woojin begins again with a sad sort of strength. “I’m a coward. I disguised the breakup as both of our true priorities asserting themselves. My dancing and your animals were always important and that’s why we couldn’t be together. But that’s a fucking farse, Jihoon, please understand that. I mean, it’s true to some extent, but it was because it _was_ true that I hid behind it. It was the most apparent problem.”

“Then _why did you leave?"_ Jihoon asks, tired. He’s exhausted but so is Woojin. He almost lost Yoomi today, of course he’s completely frazzled. Jihoon wishes they could be having this discussion somewhere else but he understands that Woojin’s trauma this morning is asserting itself in a very noisy (and very Woojin-like) desire to set all things right at once, to do everything he can to make things less fucking awful.

In the beginning of their relationship (and if he’s being particularly honest, in the waning stages as well) this type of intensity could be overwhelming at times—Woojin feels so much, so deeply—but it was also wonderfully fulfilling and exciting to be the primary recipient of that much passion. Jihoon won’t find that particular edge, that particular intensity in Guanlin or anyone else. It’s just who Woojin is, especially when he’s in love.

Woojin took that powerful attention away when he left and Jihoon hates himself for going through an embarrassing withdrawal from it. One that sapped his self-esteem and mocked him for his inability to keep anyone important around him. Now Woojin is here targeting him with all that passion once more and while Jihoon misses it for what it was, he realizes that he _doesn’t need it_.

He doesn’t _need_ Woojin’s ardor, honest and passionate though it is. Not right now and not like he did before. It’s such a simple realization, so simple Jihoon feels flabbergasted by the idea. Jihoon is many things—he’s a dog lawyer, he’s a zoologist, he’s both a lover and a fighter. He’s not over Woojin and that’s okay. Something falls into place, something begins to trickle into that Woojin-shaped hole in his heart and _it’s not Woojin._ It’s Jihoon himself.

“Why? Hah… it’s simple, really. I couldn’t _breathe._ I was so terrified of you leaving me I couldn’t even draw breath. Like any day you’d wise up to the fact t-that you deserve someone better and brighter and more available than me.”

 _How can you think so poorly of yourself when you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted?_ Jihoon doesn’t ask this. Even now Jihoon doesn’t want Guanlin or any sort of new relationship, he wants Woojin to have not broken his heart. It’s probably better for his mental health if he admits this to himself, that Woojin is still very much a part of him. That he can’t just bury himself under lawsuits and applications and pink hair and expect the resolution of those distractions to somehow zip him up again, good as new.

This meeting, disorganized and unforeseen though it may be, was a bound to happen sometime. Jihoon can’t run from his memories, just as he can’t change Woojin's rough timbre or the way he fiddles with his hands. But Jihoon does have power here, he has power over his own self-worth. And right now he's worthy of explanations and apologies from Park Woojin.

“That’s bullshit. You’re bullshit.” Jihoon’s growl surprises both of them. “You can’t make that decision for me. You can’t just… _decide_ how I feel about you.”

“I know. I know that. I’m so sor—”

“Don’t apologize to me. _Explain_.” Jihoon demands, holding his hands into tight fists once more. His palms sting where his nails dig into the flesh.

It’s so easy to imagine Woojin nodding shyly. “I... We weren’t _okay_ and we hadn’t really been for a while. When I wasn’t certain of you leaving I was afraid of how afraid I was. Scared of how inevitable our breakup seemed in my idiotic, overblown imagination. I didn’t want to be afraid, I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I just… I ended it before you could. I broke us before you could.”

“Without talking to me.” Jihoon clarifies with as much neutrality as he can muster. “Without bringing up, ‘oh, hey, so I’m feeling very vulnerable and insecure about your feelings for me, I would like to talk about it.’ Nothing reasonable and mature like that.”

“Reasonable and mature? Have you _met_ me?” Woojin goes for a touch of humor and is shut down by how clearly stupid it was of him to try to make a joke right now. “No, I panicked. I made a decision and followed through before I could overthink it, before I could back out or _ask you_ or any of those reasonable and mature things.”

Jihoon can’t help it, he lets out a sigh and shakes his head. He has considered many things, many reasons or situations or interactions between them that went sour—but never for a moment did he think that Woojin was afraid of having his own heart broken and preemptively did the deed himself. “So. What? That’s absolutely _ridiculous_.”

“I made a huge mistake, a gigantic, obvious mistake. I made a decision about our relationship for you—for _us—_ and I deeply regret it, more than I can ever express. T-that’s why I called you immediately, about Yoomi. You needed to know and I’m not going to take a decision away from you ever again—even if that decision ended up being you ignoring me. You came, and I’m _so_ grateful, but you didn’t have to. Thank you. Sorry. All of it.”

This entire word mess so far is somehow both the most eloquent and least polished thing that Jihoon has _ever_ heard come out of Woojin’s mouth. It’s all so genuine and unrehearsed; that clumsy sort of honesty of his that never ceases to make Jihoon’s heart beat just a little faster.

“It’s not enough for me to say I’m an asshole or to apologize until my jaw falls off. I know—I hate the fact, but I do know it—that nothing is going to be enough to make up for whatever I took from you.”

Jihoon remembers all of the sudden that he is in a dingy animal hospital, that he just won a conservation lawsuit, that Yoomi just got hit by a car, and that Woojin is here giving him the apologies and explanations he told himself he didn’t need anymore. In the weeks following the breakup Jihoon had wanted nothing more than some explanation he could latch on to; descriptions of how exactly Jihoon messed up, which actions of his led to Woojin leaving, anything that might shed light on the suddenness of their split. Now he has Woojin making the exact noises he wanted to hear (months ago, mind you) and it’s both painful and absurd. More than that, it _makes sense._

Especially now that he knows he really wasn’t the one at fault; his own push and pull for Woojin’s attention was nowhere near any kind of Breakup Zone. The bits and pieces are falling into place now: Woojin got spooked and they broke up over a _false alarm._ Fuck that. Jihoon is mad now. He’s happy to be mad. No more ambivalence, no more skirting around his feelings of loss and abandonment. He’s fucking pissed at both Woojin _and_ himself for letting this happen.

“You want to know what you took from me? You took a huge bite out of my self-esteem.” Jihoon snarls. “N-no… I _let_ you. I let you take my confidence and self-worth. I let you take my favorite food away from me. And my dog. You hurt me, Woojin. You fucking _left_ me. Left me for a reason I’ve been under the traumatized impression that you actually thought _very hard about_. Or, you know, _at all.”_

Is Woojin hurt by this? Jihoon weighs pros and cons for a whole moment before he mentally kicks over his complicated scale of judgement and just goes for broke. He turns sharply on his heel and faces Woojin for the first time since they’ve been in the hallway together. Woojin jumps in place, shocked both by the fact that he actually turned to face him and hopefully from the anime-style electricity Jihoon likes to imagine is shooting out of his eyeballs.

 _Be strong. You are strong. Your strength is yours and has nothing to do with him._ His confidence-building thoughts, while far from hollow, don’t carry the comforting weight he has been relying upon for the last few months. Probably because Park Woojin and everything about him has always tugged Jihoon’s attention—his _future_ —in his direction. They tug each other.

“I’m sorry.” Woojin mutters, bowing his head with a small twist that exposes his throat. Years of animal behavior classes whisper, _submissive posturing_ , but Jihoon doesn’t want this conversation to be about advantage and disadvantage. He doesn’t want the upper hand even though by rights he has it. He doesn’t know what he wants, sure, but understanding what he _doesn’t_ want is as good of an emotional mooring as he can hope to have right now.

“I know.” _Be strong, be steady._ “It does matter to me, all of this. What you’ve said. I appreciate you… clarifying a few things. I’ll…” Jihoon can’t continue for a moment, growing increasingly more frazzled as his mind starts really getting to work on what Woojin’s explanation means for him.

After realizing there is simply too much to sift through, Jihoon decides that he needs to get out before he does something random and drastic like scream or cry or stare into Woojin’s eyes for so long that he stays there forever. He can unpack this later, when he finally gets to be alone again with a pint of cider and half a joint.

First, he needs to say his bit and set things straight from his own perspective. “I know you’re sorry, but here’s the thing. You _hurt_ me. You fled from everything we had over a misinterpretation and overblown insecurities. You left us both with a harmful lack of closure. Which is fucking _idiocy.”_

Woojin winces but nods. Good, Jihoon hadn’t intended that to be cordial.

“You walked away. I thought you had a good reason and let you leave without trying to stop you. That’s on me, that’s always been on me. But now what, Woojin? I shouldn’t trust you, I shouldn’t believe anything you’re saying to me right now.” Jihoon pauses and shakes his head with a choked laugh. “But I _do_ , how fucked up is that?”

“A little.” Woojin admits.

“A _lot_ , you piece of shit. I let you break my heart, I let you walk away. I let myself think for _months_ that I had done something—actually _done_ something to make you hurt me like that. But it was both of us _not_ doing something that did us in. We didn’t talk. We didn’t communicate.”

“We are now.” Woojin observes quietly with a little raise of his brow.

“Good to know you have fucking ears. Not the point.” Jihoon sighs angrily. “I want to pretend that this doesn’t change anything but… it does. I don’t know what that change is right now, but I…” He trails off, looks down at his shaking hands with a stupid laugh. “God, you’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’ve been made aware.” Woojin has his hands in his pockets now and his posture would be called sheepish if there wasn’t something else, something powerful brewing in his eyes. “Daehwi almost gouged my eyes out with cufflinks. Pretty sure Hyungseob was a few moments away from drowning me in ramen once.”

He can’t help it—Jihoon laughs once, cruelly. “Good ‘ol Daehwi... but wow, you must have gotten pretty shitty for a cherub like Hyungseob to want to end you.”

The joke falls flat on its face but then again this conversation hasn’t exactly made room for comedy.

Woojin winces. “I’m so sorry. I’m… I can’t even explain the extent, the true extent of how sorry I am. I don’t think even _you_ can, and that’s… you know, saying something. But I’m here, spewing shit at you—true, honest, fucked up shit and despite how I know how I don’t deserve your good graces I still _had_ to explain." He laughs self-deprecatingly. "Honestly? I didn’t actually think you’d come, I’m still fucking flabbergasted at that alone. And grateful that you’re here. Talking to me. I… fuck.”

There’s a pause between them, silent and charged. Jihoon breaks first. “Good god, I wish he would have drowned you—now I have to… consider this, whatever it means.”

Woojin opens his mouth to speak but shakes his head mid-thought and casts a defeated gaze to his feet. “T-that’s the thing. You don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ever."

“I _know_ I don’t have to.” Jihoon snaps, awed and slightly pleased that Woojin has placed the ball completely in his court like this. “But I will, because you deserve that. Because I know you’re sorry and I know you’re a good person. You’re the best fucking person and when people aren’t trying to murder you I think they tend to agree.”

Successfully confusing him with the sudden compliment, Jihoon actually takes a step towards Woojin and watches his eyes widen. “So listen up. This is not a promise. Not a declaration. Nothing, none of that. It’s a fact: I miss you every fucking _day_.”

Woojin nods, working very hard to control his physical reaction to this admission but Jihoon knows him too well—he knows Woojin is fucking _thrilled_. Not in a bad way, not in any way meant to pressure or manipulate Jihoon, but for the first time since he learned that Yoomi would be okay he actually looks like he’s happy to be alive. This happiness is restrained, almost like a dog balancing a treat on his nose and waiting for the kill cue from a trainer.

This is Jihoon’s game now so he sets up the final play.

“I miss you, and I’m sure you miss me. But listen to me very closely, Park Woojin.”

Jihoon takes a steadying breath and looks into Woojin's eyes—swollen and red from tears and fear but the signs of his distress are no longer enough to combat the hungry hope that lurks in his gaze. Jihoon organizes his next words before delivering them with as much neutral strength as he can.

“I’m going to walk away from you now and fucking deal with this. You are not going to follow me.”

It sounds like a whiplash or some other painful rebuke but both of them know it is nothing of the sort. This is a time-out, a concerted pause for both of them for Jihoon to think and Woojin to agonize.

Jihoon nods to Woojin who nods back, still so careful to curtail his reactions. He’s careful but still cannot manage to stop a small, true, “I love you,” from slipping through his lips.

Jihoon’s heart and his liver might have switched places at that admission because all of the sudden nothing in his body is working properly. He manages to nod once more before turning on his heel and walking strongly through the hall, eventually reaching the lobby.

Woojin doesn’t follow.

When Jihoon is halfway through the lobby the sweet, portly receptionist tries to speak to him about payment and Jihoon has enough sense to toss her his PCA business card without response or eye contact. After he emerges out of the clinic into the filtered sunlight of late morning clouds, Jihoon runs his hands down his face and fishes in his pocket for his phone.

Before he can text Seongwoo to come pick him up, his hyung pulls into the parking lot lacking any of the noisy heralding Jihoon has come to expect from him. There is no delightful medley of horn honks, no lyrically appropriate music pumping from the inside of his 4-door sedan—there’s only Seongwoo and his sad, knowing smile. He pulls up neatly in front of Jihoon, who fumbles with the shotgun door handle for long enough for Seongwoo to lean over from the driver’s seat and push the door open himself.

They don’t speak as Jihoon folds himself into the seat and buckles in, but they don’t drive away either.

“Tell me where you need to be.” Seongwoo says simply.

Jihoon shucks off his suit jacket and frees the top two buttons of his shirt and is too desperately trying not to cry to respond. With a nod of understanding Seongwoo puts the car in gear and backs out of the parking lot. Jihoon can’t help but cast a final look at the door of the clinic in case Woojin decided against his wishes and followed him.

He didn’t. Woojin keeps his word not to follow and Jihoon doesn’t really know what he feels about that. The first tears come as Seongwoo turns the corner and the clinic slips out of sight; a steady silent stream that Jihoon refuses to acknowledge and Seongwoo politely ignores. It’s not until they’ve been driving for some five minutes that Seongwoo’s chosen route becomes familiar to him.

“A-are you taking me t—” Jihoon asks with as much dignity as he can before Seongwoo interrupts.

“—Uh-huh yes-yessssss. We are going _exactly_ where you think we are. Shop is closed today but I am heir apparent and still have a key so I thought, hey! Maybe I should just let you get stupid drunk at Ongnimals! My imbibing presence is, of course, completely optional.”

Jihoon can’t help how his heart lifts at the idea of returning to his old workplace. The animals he had come to know are most likely all gone but that place will always mean the world to him. “Y-you’re kidding me.”

“Unless you don’t want to! In which case I can just swing round again, hunt down the lawyers and Guanlin wherever they are now… or do you want to just go home? Do you want… I mean I can drive you back to the conservation if you want to?” Seongwoo trails off with a pained face, clearly wanting to be the most help he can be without overstepping.

“N-no, Ongnimals is… perfect. Actually perfectly fucking perfect. Y-yes please and thank you.” Jihoon manages before having to stop and control another fresh stream of tears.

“Wow. I've seen you fake cry—tantrum, happy tears, traumatic super breakdown... a lot of your repertoire, actually—but I think this is the first time I’ve seen the real fucking deal.” Seongwoo laughs at himself before continuing. “And I have to say, I have _never_ seen someone cry so prettily.”

This wrings a small laugh out of Jihoon but at the same time makes him cry harder. Realizing that he’s a fucking mess, Jihoon turns away and blindly punches Seongwoo on the arm with too much strength. “Th-thanks, you fucking asshole.”

~

It turns out that Ez has more than 85,000 followers on Twitter and a rather mighty 115,000+ strong Instagram following. Woojin cannot suppress his gleeful pride that Jihoon is doing something like this, not to mention doing it so _well_. It’s not like Jihoon isn’t unstoppably photogenic all the time or that he’s camera shy or anything—it’s just when it comes down to it he's never really been one for self-aggrandizement or, well, social media in any way shape or form. It seems when paired with a rehabilitated wolf pup with a now ingrained domesticated streak, Jihoon gets to avoid being the true center of attention (which Woojin knows he can find overwhelming and often off-putting) while still managing to run a great account that shows off how fucking cute he is.

Woojin is in a large practice room at Brand New Music with some of the members of BNB, sitting crosslegged on the floor and occasionally cooing as he scrolls through Ez’s Instagram (@EZisREALlyokay) and gawks at just how many likes each and every single one of Jihoon's posts get.

Like this one, a quick video of Jihoon and Ez playing a rough game of tug-of-war, which has what he considers to be an outstanding 23,000 likes. It gets 3 more just as he’s watching it. Woojin replays it, shamelessly savoring Jihoon’s bright laughter and wolf mimicry. That’s when a full plastic water bottle smacks him straight in the forehead with a dull _thunk._ “Aaooowww, fuck off you mongrel.”

“I take it you’re actually _liking_ Jihoon’s posts instead of just melting into your phone…” Hyungseob sing-songs at Woojin while lazily going through a series of standing stretches, pretending for all the world that he didn’t just lob a projectile at him.

Woojin sighs and drags his eyes away from his Instagram feed to consider his idol friends. “That would be capital-D Dumb. See, if I did that, he’d _know."_

“What, that you _like_ him?” Donghyun chimes in with an innocent grin that Woojin knows from experience can be absolute fucking fraud. “Puh-lease, Woojinie. You mated for life with that one even if he didn’t.”

From some corner Youngmin reprimands him with a soft, “Meeean.”

“Accurate.” Both Hyungseob and Donghyun correct him in unison.

Woojin is the only backup dancer in BNM to be so close with the actual idols and some niggling thing in the back of his mind—the one that speaks with Jihoon’s bittersweet authority—reminds him that there might be a _reason_ for that. Something about him that transcends the designation of backup.

“Then like them.” Youngmin calls coolly, still in his corner. “Like them ALL.”

Once upon a time Hyungseob invited Woojin to come go over some blocking and training with a couple of the band members and since then their get-togethers started to become something of a Thing. Sure, sometimes they do get shit done but these off-hours ‘practices’ rarely fail to devolve into shameless gossip bouts and idiotic freestyle dance battles. Often simultaneously. Today is no different—Donghyun miraculously out-wiggled Hyungseob to the tune of Dam-Da-Di not fifteen minutes ago and now they're all offering Woojin unwanted (which is to say, completely fucking necessary) advice on how to flirt with the ex he’s still wholly in love with.

Hyungseob ceases his leg stretches and shoots Woojin a _look._ “It’s been how many days since Dog Lawyer?”

Dog Lawyer is capitalized in their group chat—indicative of the event surrounding Jihoon coming in and snatching Woojin’s heart back out of the Lost and Found—and there’s no mistaking the capitalization as it’s spoken now.

“8 days.” Woojin mutters quietly.

“Um, just so we—I’m talking to _you_ , Woojin—are completely aware, I  _was_ kidding…” Youngmin assures, using the dance studio mirror walls to crawl up to a standing position. “I feel the need to clarify this because Woojinie… I mean how many tens have you liked already?"

“Zero tens, don’t worry.”

Hyungseob sighs in relief. “Mmhm. Like just a few here and there. Make it clear you're looking through the whole thing but saving your hearts only for the best. You know, the ones that Jihoon himself prefers—that one in every twenty that he's truly proud of.”

There's a pause between them all before Donghyun utters a single bark of a laugh. “Since when do _you_ know Dog Lawyer so well, eh?”

Hyungseob always delivers on his band-appointed role of wide-eyed young soul and to some extent it reflects his true personality. He fits so well with his stage persona that even his closest friends are surprised when he asserts his truer self. “Please, I have the unfortunate pleasure of being Woojin's confidant. At this point I know Jihoon better than I know the rest of you, Woojin _included_.”

Woojin opens his mouth to apologize but holds it once he sees the glint in Hyungseob's eyes. He nods pointedly and turns back to his phone. “You're not wrong at all though, sometimes the posts are rushed or the picture is just B-quality but then… some of them just _shine_. They tell more than a thousand words, you know?”

Donghyun pretends to throw up. Youngmin joins him.

 

~

 

If Jihoon were to make a completely, wholeheartedly, inhumanly dispassionate observation about the band Woojin backs up, it would probably be a chilled, _could be great but at this rate probably won’t be,_  followed by a restrained shrug.

If Jihoon were to make a completely, wholeheartedly, (very) humanly passionate observation about the band Woojin backs up, it would probably be a disbelieving huff of, _what the fuck do they have that Woojin doesn’t_ , followed by another 99 huffs.

Good timing is the answer to the huffs. The group was formed a year or so ago, and Woojin’s been at BNM for less than half a year. He's a bit too old to be properly broken and remade like most academy idols and was far too late to be in the boy band. At the time this wasn’t the worst thing, as Woojin had auditioned only to be a dancer during a time categorized by a lull of idol group open calls and so he was practically a shoo-in.

It just _sucks._ Jihoon has just watched BNB’s ‘sexy summer night’ concept MV for the 4th time in 30 minutes and has come to the conclusion that despite how Woojin is obviously trying to dampen the outward effect of his own energy and talent for the sake of the people he’s backing, his charisma is still _out of this world_. Jihoon is biased, sure, but he’s also a good judge of ability—enough to see that the rest of the group does have it. Woojin also has this ability, and then some.

Jihoon sits crosslegged on the top of a small hill at a private dog park about halfway between the PCA conservancy and the city. The park used to be a 9-hole golf course but two years without a groundskeeper has more or less eliminated the lines between the holes while still keeping the long flat planes of shorter grass that make great fields for a constant mess of canines to trample over everyday.

On warm spring days that carry the promise of summer like this, Jihoon is always pleased to work his surprisingly lucrative part-time job as an animal caretaker for rich people who lack the time or inclination to look after their often high-maintenance animals. Jihoon has taken today’s charges (a trio of googly-eyed pugs) to the most selective and expensive private dog park he knows, all on the dime of the currently-travelling surgeon who owns them.

He has also brought a human with him to enjoy the park and the day, a currently unemployed Kim Jaehwan armed with practically unlimited leisure time. Jaehwan’s been so bored recently he whined hard enough over text this morning that Jihoon caved and invited him to this animal country club. He thought he would regret the decision but so far he’s been having an easy and lovely day with Jaehwan. Pugs and Jaehwan seem to fit each other very well and watching him play with the dogs with all his inexperienced clumsiness has put Jihoon in a very soft mood.

The pugs are currently under Jaehwan’s delighted eye playing dog-tag with a sprightly black lab and a ponderously large anatolian shepherd. Jihoon leaves them be in favor of relaxing in the warm glow of the spring sun and admiration for Woojin and his talent. He’s a rare one, the type of artist whose talent is matched only by the amount of work he puts in.

It’s a beautiful day and Jihoon is surrounded by things that make him happy so he reasons he might as well watch the music video _one more time_. Jaehwan is too far away to see what Jihoon is up to and there is no one else nearby to witness and tease him for his behavior (besides his own conscience, of course). Jihoon replays the music video but only gets a few moments in before he changes his mind and selects the dance practice video instead.

Yeah, Woojin is even _better_ like this: clad in all black, surprisingly well-fitted and expensive athleisure wear. His hair is silver with a darker undercut, pushed back in disarray from all the points in this choreography where you run your hand through your hair. Woojin looks strong and dangerous but moves with unexpected and unmatched fluidity—he would be an absolute attention magnet even if Jihoon wasn’t in love with him.

Fuck, he’s hot. Jihoon finishes the video with a wide-eyed blush and has to take a moment to fan his face and laugh at himself. Still chortling, he checks out the comments of the practice video and reads through the most recent with appreciative nods and occasional laughs until he runs into one that stops his heart:

_yeah okay duh sexy choreo is a godsend but can wE TAlk abOUT thaT SILVER HOTTIE BAcKUP DANCER?! who is he what are his deets i need his star sign i need it all_

The comment has 154 likes and 14 replies. Jihoon is embarrassed but unsurprised at the flash of teeth-gritting jealousy that fades as quickly as it strikes. What takes its place is a soft sort of buoyancy that lifts his spirits even further. Of _course_ Woojin is a hottie, he’s fucking ev-ery-thing.    

Not far down from the mention of the SILVER HOTTIE Jihoon finds another comment singing Woojin's praises:

_the phenom backup is park woojin. joined bnm after bnb was formed and i cannot stop looking at him_

Followed by another:

_okay fuck you fuck me fuck all of thissss- petition to adopt park woojin into bnb so he can kill us all_

“Whatchu blushing at over there, Jihoonie? Porn?” Jaehwan calls out, causing Jihoon to jump in place and hide his phone clumsily. His friend is currently trudging up the slight incline of the field, holding a hand over his eyes to block out the sun. The dogs are showing no signs of tiring out down below but Jaehwan looks like he needs a stiff drink and some shade. Honestly, so does Jihoon.

“Nothing, just, uh—” In his haste to hide his phone even further Jihoon accidentally presses play on the video and BNB’s new single rings out true and clear. “—huh. Fancy that.”

“Oh my god are you… NO. You are Not. You are _not_ stalking Woojin right now. Oh my god, porn wasn’t even that far off the mark! What a glorious day!!" Jaehwan reaches Jihoon just as he manages to pause the video and stand, brushing stray blades of grass from his clothes to avoid looking at his playful friend.

“It’s good choreography.” Jihoon shrugs, flicking his hair out of his eyes before finally casting a nonchalant eyebrow at Jaehwan.

Sunkissed and happy, Jaehwan beams. “It’s a good song in general.” He assures before actually singing a few bars. “But okay what’s this, hmm? You mentioned that you guys actually dished it out and he’s pretty much completely at fault? But you were a little cagey about the details.”

Jihoon sighs as the pair of them begin to walk slowly down the hill to the pugs. “He didn’t… I don’t know, hyung. He didn’t break up with me because we were broken… he did it because he was _afraid_ of us breaking and that’s just… that’s kind of bullshit.”

“And what kind of person would you be if you just accepted him and his mistake back into your life?” Jaehwan nods sagely. “Right?”

Jaehwan _is_ right and Jihoon is a little ashamed that this surprises him. “Yeah. I mean… but he apologized for it all. Explained it. Let me control the conversation and the next steps, whatever they are. Whatever I want is what he’ll get, he made that very clear.”

Jaehwan whistles in admiration. “You gotta appreciate that, but that’s putting a burden on you isn’t it?”

A bit. Jihoon isn’t bothered by that part, actually. His exact control over the situation is a welcome change from the storm of confusion and hurt Woojin put him through. “Maybe. It feels like some kind of penance. I don’t know.”

“Does that bother you?” Jaehwan asks as they reach the bottom of the hill where the pugs are playing and bends down to grab one of them in order to get her on a leash.

“Anything bothers me if I think about it too much…” Jihoon admits with a dry laugh. “But I guess I don’t really know what… like what am I even doing here, hyung, punishing him? Is that what he wants, to be punished?”

Jaehwan hums to himself while Jihoon awkwardly chases down another pug, finally grabbing him by the collar and leashing him as well. They have to work together to get the last dog leashed and by the time they have collected the pug puddle Jaehwan has managed to sort out his thoughts.

“I don’t think he wants to be punished… I think he wants to make _you_ happy, no matter what. If putting him through some trial of forgiveness makes you happy, he’ll do it. If punishing him makes you happy, he’ll endure it. It’s not about what he thinks he deserves… it’s what he knows _you_ do.”

Hot damn, Kim Jaehwan. “Please don’t tell me you’re quoting song lyrics or some foreign drama…” Jihoon deadpans.

Jaehwan starts giggling shrilly. “Does it count if it's _my_ _song_  lyrics?

“Wow, hyung, you should be a musician or something…” Jihoon deadpans, holding the leashes of two of the pugs.

Jaehwan scoops up the third and is trying to hold the little dog up to the sky like Rafiki presenting newborn Simba as they start to amble off the greenway. “So, you’re spying on BNB videos to determine…?”

“Not determining anything, hyung.” Jihoon admits with a sweet little smile that Jaehwan doesn’t catch. “I just love watching him dance.”

He looks down at his phone, something of an idea budding in his heart.

~

 

“Okay pretty boys, I’m calling this.” Woojin declares, pushing off his knees into a stand and stretching with a small groan. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Woojin heads over to Youngmin’s corner where he and the rest of them have stashed their stuff and slings his bag over his shoulder, phone still in hand. As he approaches the eldest, Youngmin shoots him a soft, sad grin. “We’ve got a big variety loop, it’s going to take all day.”

“Oh.”

“But we’ll catch you later, yeah?” Donghyun jumps in, sensitive to the mood. Woojin might play with the idols but he _isn't_ one and sometimes that can be a complicated elephant to have in the room.

“Sure, sure…” Woojin starts to head towards the door but before he can raise his hand to the handle, his phone rings out with a text notification. It’s one word, three letters powerful enough to kick everything else out, every hope and every fear.

Everything but Jihoon.

_hey_

A treasured memory touches Woojin—freezing in place while waiting in line to board a city bus, incapacitated with shock and terror and sheer elation when Jihoon had texted him for the very first time: _hey_ _it’s baby barthief snake boy jihoon._ This text feels like that one, only this time it’s amplified to a degree that almost brings tears to his eyes.

“Yo, Woojinie what’s up? You look like you just got the wind knocked out of you…” Hyungseob asks, noticing Woojin’s behavior before the others and taking long strides forward to his side.

Woojin is still frozen right in the doorway, feeling nothing except the quick and heavy beating of his heart. That’s why when another member of BNB, Sewoon, dramatically opens the door to the studio inwards, towards Woojin, he doesn’t have enough sense to jump back. The door smacks Woojin at an angle, nailing his right temple and bringing _actual_ tears to his eyes.

 

~

 

Jaehwan studies Jihoon over the rim of their matching “rich people” margaritas. Such a fine establishment as the _CaNine-Hole Greens_ wouldn’t be a private club without a fine bar and restaurant, and it’s nice to have even though Jihoon (buying for Jaehwan) can reasonably only afford the happy hour pricing.

“I think you should text him. Just text his ass." Jaehwan declares, swiping his tongue across the rim to collect some salt. A moment later he screws up his face at the saltiness.

Jihoon smiles mysteriously before fluttering his lashes in a way he knows can be terribly distracting. “Hm… you really think so?”

“I mean you’ve already started up a… let’s call it a dialogue.”

After looking at his phone, Jihoon takes a sip of his drink and shudders in glee as the tequila hits. Jaehwan does the same, admittedly reacting with a more obvious icky-booze face. “I mean, you do miss him.”

“I do. We’re dialoguing.” Another smile, the secretive one. “I don’t know if I should, hyung…”

“Why the hell not? And what’s going on with this shitface?” Jaehwan tries to mimic Jihoon’s knowing little smile.

Jihoon just shrugs, pursing his lips slightly to avoid smiling. “Mmm yeah I mean, I texted him before we got our drinks. Don't want to double text this quickly, right?”

Laughing at Jaehwan’s scandalized delight at this, Jihoon looks down at this phone to find a rather familiar response:

_Hey!_

Jihoon gives him a bit of time to tack on a smilie on the end of that and frowns when none seem to be forthcoming. Ignoring Jaehwan’s rant about dumb lovers and sly pretty boys, Jihoon weighs his options and decides to go for broke.

_what, no smilies?_

 

_~_

 

Lying on his back on the dance studio floor with an ice pack covering half of his face, Woojin holds his phone in the air above him and starts chuckling to himself. “Oh, he wants _smilies, does he?"_

He then spirals deeper, his laughter taking a turn toward _evil_. “I’ll give him fucking smilies…”

Sewoon (who very quickly ran out the door he bashed Woojin with and returned with a full-on first aid kit and two ice packs) tilts his head in consideration before looking around at the other members. “I… did I just break his brain?”

Hyungseob smiles wanly. “No, I think you may have fixed him, actually." 

 

~

 

Mere moments after taunting Woojin about smilies Jihoon receives an entire string of them and laughs so hard he spills a good third of his drink.

Jaehwan is loving every second of this and leans further across the table, practically vibrating in place. “Why are you so cute, what the hell.”

“Gotta be cute enough to stand next to you, hyung.” Jihoon replies distractedly, biting his lip as he considers what to say next.

He decides to go with honesty.

_watched the new dance practice vid_

_you’re really incredible_

This is quickly responded to with a bit of Woojin-brand sincerity:

_Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot of feelings_

_Got to wiggle them out somehow_

_Thank you for reaching out_

_I'm sur_ _e you’re aware that I’m kinda dying right now_

_Because uh_

_you reached out, I mean_

_Feels like I got hit by a door_

There’s a pause in Woojin’s rapidfire texts before he continues.

_Funny story though_

_I actually DID just get hit by a door_

 

_~_

 

Woojin laughs in disbelief as he reads Jihoon’s response to the door story:

_the fuck? you got hit by a door? are you okay?_

“You guys… you guys I think he actually _cares_ about me!” Woojin calls to his friends.

“Hit him with the door again, Sewoon-hyung. Maybe it’ll knock the dumb out of him.” Donghyun says before turning to Woojin. “Of _course_ he cares about you, you imbecile.”

Woojin ignores this and quickly types up a response.

_Yeah I’m totally fine do not worry_

A good minute passes without a response from Jihoon, so Woojin prompts one.

_Do you_

_Ermm_

_Do you need anything?? or??_

It takes another agonizing minute to get a response from Jihoon but he’s sure his heart exploded and his brain leaked out of his ears as soon as Woojin receives it:

_no_

_just kind of missed you_

_thats all_  

“That’s _all?_ That’s ALL?!” Woojin pleads to no one. “Nonono, that’s everything.”

Instead of express this  _everything_ to him (afterall, 'don’t scare him away' is now back at the very top of the Park Jihoon No-No List) Woojin plays it easy-breezy:

_I miss you too_

  
~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh uh oh jihoon taking the first step here
> 
> listen okay im sorry this took way too long i feel like i let everyone who follows this fic down so what better way to fix that than by WRITING IT 
> 
> i love you all and i love jaehwan too and do not give him the love he deserves
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/tinylittlebell)


	5. shaken, not broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things... change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good lord sorry im so bad at updating but  
> um  
> penultimate chapter hooooray
> 
>  
> 
> also um, tw: amputation. but its backed by science. so.
> 
> .

Really, Jihoon should have seen it coming. He probably could have thought more than one hour ahead when he offered Woojin the services of the Predator Conservation Alliance and foreseen that he would be the one assigned to the task of Yoomi’s rehabilitation. Of course it would be him—Jihoon technically did  _not_ have the authority to offer PCA resources in the first place and regardless of his recent value of being the public face of a tremendous legal victory, he is still just an unpaid post-undergrad trying to set himself up for a master’s program.

Apparently the PCA Board of Directors didn’t like some intern coming in and doing their job more successfully over the course of half a year than they had in a decade. But given that Ez and Jihoon more or less went viral they had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands to help his ex-boyfriend’s dog. Instead of being treated as a hero of the wolves, Jihoon has instead been branded a disruptor and kicked into the PCA’s Time-Out Corner.

Said corner happens to be occupied by Woojin and Yoomi.

Woojin is clearly thrilled at this though he has enough sense to keep his delight restrained, at least outwardly. Jihoon is… wary. Not of what Woojin might do but of being by him, being at the mercy of the same magnetic mischief that Jihoon instantly fell for years ago.

Woojin has always—always always always—been able to pull things out of Jihoon, impulses and reactions and desires that are true to who he is but are regularly hidden. It’s not that Jihoon is facetious, he just knows parts of himself are raw and vulnerable and has always chosen to protect them from the judgement of others until he’s gotten to know them better. Not only has Woojin seen (and loved) all of these parts of Jihoon, he was arguably responsible for comfortably bringing them to the surface. He was the first person outside of his family that has ever gotten so deep and learned so much about the layout of Jihoon’s labyrinthine heart.

Jihoon being put in charge of _‘_ _dealing with your ex’s broken dog’_ (as his internship manager so succinctly put it) rings of inevitability. But despite the fact that the very concept of inevitability has always put a bad taste in his mouth he finds himself looking forward to this, whatever it'll turn out to be. He misses Yoomi terribly, enough to have never even entertained the thought of getting a pup himself during or since they were dating.

Today marks the first official day of Yoomi’s rehabilitation. It’s brilliantly sunny, bright enough to blind and Jihoon is beginning to sweat on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He waits for Woojin to come pick him up—no doubt in that oddly charming rust bucket of a car he bought about a year and a half ago. Jihoon has already texted Woojin that he’s ready and waiting, to which he responded with a flurry of emojis. They’re going to meet up with some reputable animal doctors for an extensive discussion about treatment strategies so naturally they both have to be present—Woojin as the owner and Jihoon as the Dog Lawyer.

Even before Jihoon had officially been assigned as Yoomi’s caretaker he had taken it upon himself to transfer the dog to a better animal hospital that actually specializes in dogs and, most importantly, isn’t a C-list dumpster clinic like the one Woojin had originally brought her to. 'Dumpster clinic’ might be a bit harsh but Jihoon happens to be a wholehearted snob when it comes to his academics and professional aspirations. That and Yoomi is still one of the most important creatures to him, ever. Yoomi doesn’t just deserve the best, she _is_ the best. End of story.

It’s not just Woojin that Jihoon still loves. He’s aware. They’re all going to be seeing an awful lot of each other in the coming weeks and the thought stresses him equally as much as it excites him.

Woojin is late, which isn’t actually like him. Maybe he’s just as nervous about this as Jihoon. It’s easy to imagine Woojin parked out of sight around the corner anxiously checking his reflection in his dash mirror, messing with his hairstyle every other second as though his apperance actually matters for this engagement. Jihoon would know, he was doing the same thing in his apartment ten minutes ago.

Just as Jihoon imagines Woojin leading himself through breathing exercises in his car, his old red hatchback whines its sad way around the corner into view and Jihoon finds himself smiling despite himself. He knows that car, he’s spent hours on hours riding shotgun in that car, laughing at Woojin try to hit vocal notes that are clearly beyond him. Jihoon has cried in that car, has helped to change two tires, and has certainly paid for his fair share of fuel. Hell, he’s had some of the best sex of his life in that car.

The cherry red hatchback isn’t the heart of those memories, though. It’s Woojin. He pulls up right in front of Jihoon’s building wearing surprisingly stylish sunglasses, steering the car with one hand while shoots Jihoon a finger gun with the other. A chill, late-summer reggae hip-hop track is bumping through his speakers and he bops his head perfectly in time. Jihoon’s heart does a double handspring and then miffs the landing, not because Woojin looks at all suave but because it’s  _him._ For one deceptive heartbeat Jihoon feels like they’re still together, still in love.

(Maybe they are. In love, not together. Except that they are together, technically. Spatially together. Fuck.)

“Sorry sorry sorry I’m late, I… well… here’s the thing…” Woojin starts explaining as Jihoon theatrically points to an invisible watch on his wrist as he crosses the sidewalk and gets closer. “There was this little old lady who was trying to load her car. All alone. Half my height, arms like paper clips. It was real struggle for her to even open the back door and I wasn’t about to let her break her arms…”

Well that’s certain bullshit. Jihoon lets out a bark of laughter and rolls his eyes as he walks into the street in order to get into the car next to Woojin. When he’s close enough, he actually recognizes the song playing as a BNB track that Jihoon recalls he liked a bit more than their title song of the album. The shotgun door is a piece of shit and has always taken a full physical effort to open and when he’s finally settled in, Jihoon snorts and gives Woojin the fullest, most judgemental eyebrow raise he can muster.

“You can do better than a struggling grandma.” Jihoon challenges, buckling in and trying to defend his heart against the onslaught of memories that bear down on him as soon as he finds his seat. The car smells the same. The shotgun seat belt twists up like it always does when you go to fasten it. Woojin is one-hand driving as usual, maybe out of habit, maybe because he’s always kept a hand free to hold Jihoon’s and can’t shake the impulse.

Woojin gives him a flicker of a smirk before he pulls out into the street. “Yeah, well, on top of the struggling granny there was a car that needed a jump so, naturally—”

“There was a car on top of a struggling grandma?” Jihoon plays along but adds a twist. “How ever did you save her?”

It’s a bad joke and of course Woojin is all over it, snorting before laughing brightly. “Had to tap into my maternal instincts, you know, summon the strength of a thousand mothers and save my imaginary baby. I had already lifted and thrown the car aside by the time I realized it was a senior citizen instead of an infant.”

Banter of this particular idiocy takes them the entire way to the clinic and Jihoon realizes there was barely an uncomfortable moment the whole ride. Sure, they didn’t talk about themselves, each other, or even Yoomi—topics certain to trigger—but Jihoon is still surprised at how naturally they fell back into a bounce. Specifically, _their_ bounce.

Despite being 1000% aware of Woojin next to him Jihoon never feels uncomfortable. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Everything feels just like it did when they were together. When they were _okay._ That can’t be good, but it sure as shit can’t be bad, either.

“Yaaaagkk, _seriously?_ 30 minute parking only?” Woojin snarls when he realizes the only available spots in the lot are for pickups and dropoffs.

After craning his neck around to look for another place to park Jihoon spots one. “We have a parallel park directly across the street. Want me to take over?”

Jihoon cannot help the sleazy, self-assured smirk that breaks over his face, just as he can’t help but feel the familiar pangs of memory when Woojin bristles at the notion of parallel parking. Woojin is a great driver and car owner; he can drive stick and automatic, he can fix a flat, diagnose engine trouble with a glance, and he can hold his wits together going twice the speed limit on a highway. But he cannot parallel park even if it was to save a senior citizen or an imaginary baby.   

Somehow Jihoon (who has neither a car nor a license) can consistently parallel park in one shot. There’s just something about the physics of it that clicks with him, as if it were already pre-programmed. What’s _not_ programmed is... actual car driving.

“No.” Woojin answers stubbornly. “Well, yes, but no. Just get out here and start working your magic with the clinic—I’ll drive around and find some street parking.”

There it is, the first thing since they’ve been occupying the same space that highlights the fact that they are no longer what they were. Jihoon just nods, waves, and heaves the shotgun door open. “I’ll see you inside, then.”

Woojin gives him a little salute before backing out of the lot and Jihoon takes the few steps before entering the animal hospital to remind himself who he has to be now. He dons the collected and litigious face of the Dog Lawyer as he pushes through the doors, sweeping his eyes around and trying not to smile when he sees a cleaner and livelier lobby than the previous hospital.

After a brief conversation with the young woman manning the front desk, Jihoon is admitted and quickly led to a small waiting room where two vets are already deep in conversation. Yoomi is not there. Jihoon bows his way in, interrupting their deliberations with a quick series of introductions covering himself, Yoomi, and the still-parking Woojin.

After ascertaining that Jihoon is not only a student of zoology but also affiliated with the Predator Conservation Alliance, the vets invite Jihoon into their conversation: a theoretical debate about whether Yoomi should be fitted with a prosthetic limb or simply remain a tripod. Both parties assume that amputation is necessary, and Jihoon agrees.

Scientifically it’s all right and good and plus, they have to cleanly amputate her injured leg within the next 24 hours or risk larger problems. This is the conversation to be had today regarding Yoomi’s rehabilitation. This medical banter continues for five minutes, then ten, and Jihoon is just about to text Woojin when the man himself is led into the waiting room. He’s surprisingly composed, bowing deeply to the two vets and introducing himself.

“Right then, Mr. Park. And Mr. Park.” The lead vet nods to both of them in turn, rubbing his hands together. “Seems there’s a leg that needs chopping.”

His rude, cavalier attitude towards amputation strikes through Jihoon like lightning but this shock is absolutely nothing compared to the sight of Woojin gaping, suddenly as sick and pale as Jihoon has almost ever seen him. The vet assistant smacks her colleague on the shoulder, complaining weakly about a lack of tact, but Woojin isn’t listening— _can’t_ listen.

No, he’s looking at Jihoon, eyes wet and scared. There’s true, confused betrayal in his gaze, enough to make Jihoon nauseous as he realizes the extent of his oversight. This is on him, this is all on Jihoon for neglecting to prepare Woojin for the idea of Yoomi losing a leg prior to this appointment. Jihoon hadn’t broached the topic and came into this forgetting that Woojin _isn’t a fucking animal scientist_ and might not assume losing a leg would be the obvious first step to her recovery.

Because _amputation_ is a terrifying concept, one that means a hell of a lot more to Woojin than what little medical jargon he has been exposed to so far.

Yes, Yoomi would be miserable with half of a mangled foreleg and amputation can be simply more humane. Dogs find it remarkably easy to adapt to three legs provided the surgery is done correctly. A clean amputation opens up the opportunity for a prosthetic leg if Woojin wanted to go that direction after the wound heals. Further, amputee dogs find it easy to redefine their balance and reclaim a working center of gravity, and almost as soon as the amputation wounds heal and the trauma is forgotten and they quickly remember how to be a dog. Jihoon has read the articles and studies, he’s even seen a recovering tripod outrun a quadruped without even realizing it was differently abled.

But Woojin doesn’t know any of this and based on his sudden pallor, he’s most likely imagining the worst: probably that tactless veterinarian in a blood-stained butcher’s apron taking a meat cleaver to Yoomi’s leg.

“I… I am so sorry Mr. Park, that was incredibly unprofessional—”

“Yeah, nope.” Woojin tears his eyes away from Jihoon’s and darts out the door quicker than Jihoon can even process.

Jihoon takes a few staggered steps after Woojin before stopping and reconsidering. He turns to the idiot vet (someone Jihoon himself had vetted, for fuck’s sake) with more ire than he has ever mustered in his entire life. “What the _fuck_ are you playing at?”

The vet is a decade older and a whole head taller than him, but the bite in Jihoon’s tone chastises him in an instant. “I… I’m really sorry, I thought—”

“This was supposed to be the conversation where we convince him this is the right thing to do.” Jihoon growls darkly, taking an aggressive step closer to the vet and his assistant jumps between them to keep the peace. “Something like, _‘this is why we need to amputate’,_ not, _‘let’s see how quickly I can hack off her leg!’”_

“He didn’t mean any harm,” The assistant defends weakly, more out of obligation than belief.

Jihoon just scoffs snottily before turning on his heel to chase after Woojin and make sure he’s not doing something drastic like kidnapping Yoomi from the prep room.

He pauses in the doorway, seething, but doesn’t look back. “You better believe I’ll be reporting this. Expect an official censure in the near future. I’m going to get him back here and you better have a replacement lead before we get back.”

As soon as he is out of the waiting room Jihoon realizes that Woojin’s first desperate instinct might actually be to steal his dog away from this place. After a few twists and turns through the halls he’s proven correct when he hears Woojin’s gruff protestations over a calmer, cooler dissenting voice and speeds up in his pursuit.

_“She’s MY dog, let me see her.”_

_“Sir, I’m sorry but you are not allowed in—”_

_“And how are you going to stop me? With your vet degree? Step. The fuck. Aside.”_

After turning a final corner Jihoon sees Woojin attempting to intimidate his way past a petite woman wearing the scrubs of a veterinary technician with the aim of getting into Yoomi’s prep room. He’s holding back his strength for now, but there’s something alarming in his rising distress that causes Jihoon to further quicken his pace before Woojin does something completely unacceptable like, say, punch the teeth out of a middle-aged woman.

“I’m sorry sir, but this is entirely—”

“I will pick you up and MOVE you, lady.”

In all his time knowing him, knowing his strength and restraint, Jihoon has never seen Woojin this close to losing it. It almost feels like Jihoon is losing Woojin himself—not their past relationship but who he is as a person. This is foreign, much more foreign than the deadpan Woojin that broke his heart last winter. He’s confused and scared for his dog and on top of that, is most likely much more tense about being in proximity with Jihoon than he’s been letting on. It’s a lot to bear.

Woojin feels things so intensely, so deeply, he gets caught in his own hurricane and tears everything apart. Yet despite his potential for destruction, he never _ever_ intends harm. Jihoon knows this—both sides of it—better than anyone.

“Park Woojin, back _down_.” Jihoon calls loudly, running the rest of the way down the hall. “You can’t just—”

Woojin turns to him, his face red with fury instead of the bloodlessness of before. “Oh, it’s _you_ now, huh? Mighty fucking Dog Lawyer, why didn’t you _tell_ me? You _knew._ Why didn’t you even fucking MENTION that they’re going to chop off her leg?!”

Whoa.

Jihoon stops in place, completely taken aback, and the poor vet tech takes advantage of the distraction to book it the hell out of there. “I was going…” He stops himself before he can make a needless mistake here.

Nostrils flared and eyes livid, Woojin manages to contain his rage and holds himself very _very_ still. Jihoon should probably heed this as a warning to keep a distance.

He doesn’t.

Instead Jihoon takes quick, quiet strides towards Woojin, hands raised calmly in front of his chest. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. I should have explained before today. No excuses here.”

They’re close now, a mere meter between them. Jihoon should have told him sooner. His own knowledge and arrogance left Woojin by the wayside, and the sense of nausea returns. Jihoon should have known better, it’s that simple. He fucked up. Even if Woojin might be overreacting—and really, he doesn’t think he is—this is on Jihoon's shoulders.

The only way to correct this is to be completely honest, fully risking Woojin lashing out at him. Jihoon would deserve it if he did. Resigning himself to the consequences of his folly, Jihoon takes a deep breath and plants his feet. “I’m sorry this is so shittily sudden, Woojin. But the fact is that Yoomi needs to lose that leg, there’s nothing else for it.”

This shocks a bit of the rage from Woojin but not all of it.

“Yoomi will only suffer as she is. There is nothing to do _but_ amputate and move forward.”

Quicker than Jihoon can understand, Woojin has his shoulders in his vice grips of hands and pivots on his heel to throw Jihoon back against the very door he was trying to get through. Jihoon bounces off it, impacting almost hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs, and he gasps for breath right as Woojin grabs him by his biceps again and pins him against the door, holding him fast with arms outstretched. It all happens in an instant.

“W-Woojin, I’m _right._ ” Jihoon wheezes, eyes watering lack of breath and a metric boatload of empathy. “You should have known before but I’m telling you now. Please please _please_ listen.”

“You said she was going to be okay.” Woojin monotones quietly, fingers tightening. His eyes are unfocused, glaring down at some point on Jihoon’s collarbone. “You told me Yoomi was going to be _fine._ ”

“She will be fine, Woojin. She will. I swear on everything, on her, on you, on me, on everything we’ve ever shared: Yoomi _will_ be fine. But only if we amputate her in the next 24 hours.”

Woojin sags closer to Jihoon, though his grip remains bruising. “Losing a leg is _not…_ ” He can’t even use the word ‘amputate’. “It can’t be FINE.”

“Dogs aren’t humans, Woojin. There’s no self-worth attached to possessing or lacking any feature. They don’t feel shame like we do or have any real sense of self-image to be hurt.” Jihoon knows things like this can be hard to hear but he knows he’s through the storm wall now. “Amputation is scary but it’s also necessary and well-practiced. I know it’s terrifying, especially when some shit vet makes light of it, but it needs to be done.”

As Jihoon speaks, Woojin collapses further into him, softening his grip and coming to rest his forehead in the crook of Jihoon’s neck. “She’ll… never get it back.”

It’s a whisper so timid, so different than his previous behavior that Jihoon brings his forearms up and holds Woojin by his elbows and sighs into him. “No. But she’ll survive and move forward. She can find her balance again and redefine how to be. Which is a lot more than either you or I seem to be capable of, by the way.”

Woojin might have laughed silently—Jihoon feels a sudden puff of breath against his collarbone. He releases Jihoon entirely and begins to pull away but instead of let Woojin leave his space Jihoon grips his elbows even tighter, pulling him further forward and eventually going so far as to lay one hand on his hip and the other on his rib cage. It is neither the time nor the place but Jihoon can’t help but notice new muscle on his body and more where there already was. Woojin falls against him fully, exhaling deeply and expelling a measure of tension with it.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Just now with the manhandling, before with the break up, even before the before, all his time spent with Hyungseob and all his pettiness against Guanlin. Woojin seems to be apologizing for all of it.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Jihoon whispers back, unable to stop himself from nuzzling into Woojin’s hair as he takes his place against Jihoon’s neck again.

“Amputation ‘fine’?” Woojin half-jokes. At least he’s using the word itself.

Jihoon barks out a quiet laugh despite himself and adjusts his position to let Woojin wrap his arms around his waist. This should be the one thing Jihoon can’t be doing right now and is definitely the only thing he wants to be happening. “Maybe I haven’t found my balance yet, but yes, amputation ‘fine’.”

“Can’t go back.” Woojin breathes into his neck.

Jihoon agrees with a small nod he knows Woojin can feel. “Only forward.”

They fall silent, breathing each other in. After a few moments Woojin seems to realize that they’re touching and jumps in place.

“Am I too… close?” He asks sincerely, stiffening as though to pull away again.

Jihoon snorts into his hair. “I’m the one keeping you here, idiot.”

It’s a strange admission that Jihoon finds impossible to regret. Woojin sighs into him again and pulls away enough to look him in the eye. “What is this, Jihoon?”

“I don’t know.” Being this close to Woojin, touching him, sharing heart and heat doesn’t feel wrong—not like it should.

“M’sorry.” Woojin mumbles again.

“Don’t be.” Jihoon then reiterates stronger, almost pointedly. “You don’t have to be so careful with me.”

Woojin laughs once, sadly. “I do though.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Jihoon says softly, omitting a very clear,  _again_.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then—”

“— _you’re_ going to hurt _me_.” Woojin mutters, pushing himself away from Jihoon’s neck in order to match gazes. “We both know that.”

A lick of irritation passes through Jihoon at this. He’s heard _that_ before. “Well this tune sounds familiar. Are you making unilateral decisions about _us_ again?”

“What us? Come on Jihoon, we’re not… what we were.” Woojin responds, defeated, slumping forward once more.

“Yeah, for good reason.” It sounds chastising, more than Jihoon intended. “Sorry, I… well, I did mean that but not mean...ly.”

Woojin still doesn’t look up so Jihoon shakes him a little. “We’re not what we were because we are what we are.”

“Yes, those are words.” Woojin can’t help but force a small smirk, looking up at him through his bangs.

“Here are some more. Yoomi needs _us_ right now. Let’s start there, okay?”

Woojin squeezes Jihoon around the middle once before extricating his arms and pushing away. That was admittedly the most physical contact Jihoon has had with another person in months, and he doesn’t even shame himself for wanting more of it—maybe catching Woojin’s hand in his and keeping it there.

Woojin is more than an ex, he’s more than the person who broke his heart. Yes, those facts are inescapable and must be considered within the bigger picture, but _so does the rest of it_. The other things are just as real, like Woojin being able to make him laugh forever and ever despite Jihoon rarely giving others the luxury of pulling such sincere reactions from him. Woojin heeding every boundary Jihoon has ever set, even now.

They part with a lingering glance and walk side-by-side back to the waiting room, keeping a respectable distance between them. Jihoon’s threat worked and there is in fact a different, equally qualified lead veterinarian waiting. They pick up where they left off, and with Jihoon’s assistance the new vets go over the procedure and information. Woojin is silent for the beginning, bending his fingers back and forth behind his back. Soon, though, he begins to warm to the idea and even begins to ask a few smart questions about the surgery and aftercare. Jihoon really wants to hold his hand multiple times, surprising himself, but he doesn’t dare.

Woojin sputters when they inform him the procedure itself would only take about an hour and (finally) feels content enough to serve up some comedy. “My god, we could get coffee _and_ our nails done in that amount of time...”

Unable to help himself Jihoon bursts out laughing, clutching at his side and leaning sideways into Woojin slightly. Woojin grins toothily down at him before turning to the vets with a brave, steadying breath. “Okay, Sawbones, let’s let go of that leggo.”

“See, even you’re making amputation jokes now.” Jihoon laughs loudly before muttering into Woojin ear and slapping him hard on the back.

“Yeah but only _I_ get to.” He counters, looking back at Jihoon with a tired but true smile. “And you, maybe.”

The vets disappear after leading Woojin through a small ream of paperwork requiring his signatures (which Jihoon reads over his shoulder the whole time in order to point out meanings and terminology he might not know) and Jihoon leads Woojin outside of the clinic to get some air. They’re silent now, and Jihoon feels like he’s five years older. Woojin leans against the brick of the building and lets out a heavy sigh, bringing his head back against the wall with a bit too much force. With barely a moment’s hesitation Jihoon takes a spot next to him.

The silence feels heavy but comforting somehow. Jihoon looks around the parking lot and other surroundings while giving Woojin whatever time he needs to sort through what he’s feeling and thinking. After about a minute Jihoon spots something so preciously, endearingly _Woojin_ that his heart grows twice its size and begins to restrict his breathing.

Woojin parked the car alright—awkwardly, crookedly in the same parallel parking spot they found earlier. It’s probably illegal, and actually explains why Woojin was so late coming into the clinic after dropping him off. Feeling flooded with sudden affection, Jihoon opens his mouth to draw attention to the spectacular parking job but is interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.

Jihoon knows it’s PCA before even bringing the phone into view and sighs deeply at the caller ID for three, four, five rings.

“You should take it.” Woojin mutters gruffly, unable to stop himself from scuffing his sandal against the ground.

“Don’t wanna.” Jihoon sticks his tongue out at his phone before shaking his head and letting the final ring remain unanswered. “They’re dicks anyway. 75% of the staff are just doing it to impress someone. Not to mention... I'm begining to believe people use PCA to launder dirty money.”

“What.” Woojin’s balks at him, mood switching sincerely. “No fucking way…”

“Of course not. Er, well… I don’t _actually_ know, but Sungwoon-hyung once mentioned something eyebrow-raising in their books during the mandatory trial audit.” Jihoon puts a finger on his bottom lip.

“What kind of something?” Woojin turns so he’s now leaning with only one side against the wall, quietly brimming with excitement. “Drugs?”

“Perhaps. Maybe a 3rd party tax evasion scheme. Could be both.” Jihoon stays with his back against the wall but turns his neck so they can see each other.

They stare at each other for a good four seconds before Woojin scoffs and shakes his head playfully. “I call bullshit on you, barthief.”

Jihoon laughs brightly and actually revels in the warmth that blossoms in his chest at the sound of the nickname. “Correctly called, bartend. Wading through the legal swamp, dealing with their pompous attitudes all the time, I’m coming to realize most of them are just assholes who don’t actually care about predator conservation and animal rights. And to make things worse, the ones that really care and _understand_ it are all too serious about their research to move through the nonprofit hierarchy and change it from within.”

Nodding, Woojin shifts to put his back against the wall and holds his hands behind his head. “That sounds like a job for a Dog Lawyer…”

“It sure does.” Jihoon sighs. They both look up at a brilliantly sunny sky marred only by a few dissipating airplane vapor trails.

He’s considered taking his career down that trajectory, of course. Jihoon has some name recognition and even a verifiable _brand_ now, even if those facts make him uneasy. Then there’s the fact that Jihoon has been studying animals for years, has experience both working with and fighting for them. He could spend the next few years learning business and economic policy, maybe dip his toe back into conservation law. Arguably, Jihoon could rise up the ranks of PCA within the decade.

It sounds good when spoken and looks even better on paper. The only problem is that practically _none_ of that appeals to him. Rising high, reaching the platform from which to do some good is appealing by its own merit—afterall Jihoon always heeds that little something that tugs on his gut and begs him to do his part to save the world. But that path would take him away from the things he truly loves: interacting with animals. In fact, he’s felt more fulfilled helping Woojin navigate Yoomi’s rehab in the brief stint he’s been doing it than he really ever did during the lawsuit gauntlet.

“But I think I’d much rather be a barthief.” Jihoon admits with a wonky little grin.

He knows Woojin is looking at him, feels it as he would a gust of air or a change in pressure. “Hmm…” Woojin hums to himself, and Jihoon can imagine him nodding satisfyingly.

“Yeah I mean, you’d ruin all your nice executive suits by playing with animals and romping through the woods.” Woojin laughs quietly. “We can’t have that.”

Finally Jihoon looks at him again, at his profile as he looks into the sky with his sunglasses poised low on his nose. _Hoo_ -yeah, Jihoon’s definitely still in love. Woojin honed in on Jihoon’s thought process without even hearing—or asking for—context or explanation. He knows Jihoon doesn’t want a desk or a pedestal; while he might want to save all wolves from prejudice and persecution, in the end he’d rather put all his compassion and education into helping one animal at a time. It’s a choice, neither wrong nor right. Seeing the trees is just as valid as seeing the forest.

“I like being able to help animals.” Jihoon finally voices. “Not just win a clowder of fat cats a pile of money after its too late.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit. Sorry they’re such trash heaps but I’m still, uh… you know…” Woojin grimaces with a goofy hand wiggle. “Gonna get the rehab covered, right?”

“Yeah, I had Sungwoon write up a binding agreement for treatment that those dummies signed. I could throw a rock at the CEO and they’d still liable for the full cost of her treatment.”

“I can _very_ easily imagine you throwing a rock at someone, is that bad?”

Jihoon laughs and looks down at the phone in his hands. PCA probably called to address today’s truancy—technically Jihoon is supposed to be hours away, manning the front desk of the conservancy—but he always intended to do this, to be with Woojin today.

(And Yoomi. For some reason Jihoon keeps neglecting to tack that on to his reasoning.)

But Woojin doesn’t know that Jihoon is skipping work (unpaid, mind you) and if he did, he’d probably try to stop him from doing it, even going so far as to drive Jihoon himself. This isn’t actually an unpleasant idea but Jihoon doesn’t want to be there right now. He’s good here, within arms length of Woojin, leaning against a scratchy brick wall.

“Yeah, well, fuck them.” Jihoon shrugs and pockets the phone, eyes on the sky. He leaves it at that and they settle into silence for a minute, Jihoon all the while wondering what mood Woojin is in right now; wondering if Woojin knows how _he’s_ feeling. 

Just in case Woojin doesn’t get it—a laughable thought, though admittedly he may be preoccupied with his recent breakdown and the fact that his dog is currently being amputated—Jihoon chews on his lip before reaching a small hand sideways. He slowly, sweetly links his pinky with Woojin’s, smiling to himself as he hears Woojin’s small intake of breath.

They stay that way for a few moments, neither looking at the other, before Jihoon slides his pointer and middle fingers into his palm and squeezes when Woojin’s long fingers fold over his.

It’s okay, Jihoon reasons, because this is what he wants to do. Woojin doesn’t get to decide or dictate how he feels, whether it’s hatred or rejection or love. Or forgiveness. That's what this is, forgiveness and acknowledgement. Jihoon's heart is open if Woojin's is.

When Woojin finally weaves their fingers together they both sigh aloud in spooky unison, which causes them to look at each other with an incredulous laugh before they return to looking ahead.

“We should get Yoomi a cyborg leg.” Jihoon says suddenly.

We.

“Fuck YES. Then we can outfit it with like rocket power or lasers or something completely necessary.”

We.

“We’d need a stabilizer on her other side if we want her to fly, though…”

“Who said anything about flying? I want to make her a super digger, you know? Laser paw drilling down through the world. Finding old ass bones and uncovering buried treasure and shit."

They don’t go get their nails done like Woojin quipped. They don’t even get coffee. They just hold hands and talk about robot dogs.

  
~

 

“What do you say, Park Woojin, would you like to be an idol?”

Feelings and memories of every kind and color rush in all at once as he processes those strange words. No wonder Rhymer, the BNM head honcho, is here, sitting in the back of what Woojin thought was his quarterly dance review. Well, technically it still _is_ his quarterly, and boy what a fucking review.

The offer makes no sense. Woojin’s a dancer—a damn fine, attention-grabbing dancer. He’s no idol, nor had he ever considered becoming one. On top of that, Woojin can’t easily pinpoint any other skills he has that would benefit idoldom, like modeling and singing (good god, singing) and pretending to be something he’s not. He’s not that particular Stop, Drop, and Roll into an Early Grave type of handsome like Hyungseob and Jihoon. Dancing for all of his life has given him a true, visceral sense of rhythm, so maybe rapping? Maybe? He’s belligerent enough, but he’s no real wordsmith.

Then again… the offer _does_ makes sense. Woojin has heard the rumblings, has seen the attitude of the staffs change regarding him over the last month. Slightly better treatment than his backup fellows, better hours, more leeway to hang out with BNB than before. Youngmin has been talking more about his idol experience than usual and Donghyun made Woojin memorize their greeting hand motion (as if he hadn’t already). BNBs manager, the dance coaches, even the stylists are looping Woojin in like they haven’t before. It’s all subtle, almost invisible, and if Woojin wasn’t so sensitive he probably would be missing it.

“You’re making SNS ripples and that wave is growing larger with time.” Rhymer explains, still sitting behind the other managers and trainers who normally give Woojin his reviews. “You might actually be more popular than one of the BNB members right now, though that is surely temporary.”

There’s an edge to that, an unspoken, _‘I can MAKE it temporary.’_

Suddenly Woojin doesn’t know if it’s a good thing he’s being offered a spot in BNB. As far as he knows, the band is fixed at 7 members and there was never any consideration of opening that up to new debuts. It could look bad for the company that Woojin, a backup, is getting the attention of netizens—both because it reflects poorly on the current group members (his _friends_ ) and because it makes Rhymer himself look unprofessional for failing to debut Woojin from the start.

The latter is simply not the case. Woojin joined after BNB’s debut, so he couldn’t have been in the band. But the populace doesn’t know that, they only see the Silver Hottie Backup. This industry hinges around image and illusion, afterall, and what something looks like is always more believable than what it is.

Woojin is a dancer, wholly and surely. But right now he’s sure as shit _looks_ like an idol.

“I never intended to… any of it.” Woojin tries to piece together fragments of an explanation. “I wasn’t trying to, I don’t know, make anybody look bad, I jus—”

“You’re a phenomenal dancer, Woojin.” His favorite dance trainer jumps in. “No one’s surprised people have taken notice.”

“I’m actually surprised your star power hasn’t spilled over before now.” Rhymer nods, smiling softly. “Then it comes to my attention that not only do you take time to help my boys, you’re actually very close with them.”

Woojin doesn’t know what to trust here. Shouldn’t he feel happy? Why is his first reaction to this suspicion instead of elation?

BNBs main manager is here as well, and he leans forward in his seat. “Youngmin adores you and is always grateful for you helping the members with dance, even if he doesn’t say. You and Donghyun have this natural playfulness you don’t even have to fake for fan service. Hell, you and Hyungseob are practically each other’s keeper.”

Ah, yes, Hyungseob. The only one of the staff, dancers, or idols who _hasn’t_ been treating him differently, which actually clued Woojin into the fact that the others were being more inclusive in the first place. The absence of similar behavior. He and Hyungseob are in a very good place right now, nothing cold or off, just exactly the same. Perhaps he doesn’t want to pressure Woojin in his decision? Maybe he doesn’t want Woojin in the band—nope, that’s ludicrous. Hyungseob has said before (admittedly way before now) that Woojin would actually make a fantastic idol provided he got a bit of supplemental training. Afterall, idols have debuted with much less natural talent and stage presence than Woojin knows he has.

For the thousandth time Woojin wishes he could read his friend better, maybe have any semblance of grasp on his motives, but unfortunately it’s the reverse. It’s always been Hyungseob who can see right through Woojin.

“I uh… well first of all thank you. I am incredibly flattered and humbled but I still have a whole lifetime to go before I’m worth your praise.” Woojin starts, feeling like overwhelming politeness and honesty is the best way to kickstart his brain into dealing with this situation.  

“There you go, already starting to talk the talk.” Rhymer says, pleased. He tugs his chair up to the table with the others, a gesture of reassurance. “We know you can dance the dance, but stand up and let’s see if you can walk the walk.”

Huh-whaaat? Is that a joke? Woojin, having been sitting meekly in a plastic folding chair this whole time, slowly gets to his feet and— _does he want me to model walk? Cat walk? Funny walk. How goofy should—_

“Don’t mess with the poor boy,” The dance coach suddenly jumps in to reprimand Rhymer lightly, saving Woojin’s entire spirit in the process. “There’s already a storm of thoughts in his head.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, Woojin-ah.” Rhymer waves a hand before catching a glimpse of his watch and jumping. “Okay, I have a call to get to, but please consider joining BNB. Everything is pretty much in place for you to join their ranks, minus you going through a bit of an idol bootcamp.”

Rhymer stands and Woojin stands with him with a deep bow, to which the producer returns with a light dip of the head. “Think about it, run the pros and cons, and I’ll have your answer in one week, okay?”

“I… I understand!” One week. One week to decide if he wants to drastically change his life.

Rhymer leaves quickly and Woojin slumps back in his seat. It’s quiet for a few moments when the managers shuffle some papers and the dance trainer coughs a few times before breaking the silence. “So, basically, you’re doing fucking fantastic, Woojin. That’s your quarterly review.”

She shoots a pointed Look at the her fellows and they receives the message immediately before leaving the room as well. Once the door seals shut, she stretches, lifts herself languidly from the table, and crosses the meeting room to a mini-fridge in the corner. After rifling around the contents she ends up grabbing two water bottles and tosses one at him.

Woojin catches it smoothly with a word of thanks, unscrews the cap, and takes a long drink. His trainer remains standing, looking at him with soft eyes.

“Can I offer a word of advice?”

“Please do.” Woojin breathes.

Drinking the cold water has already done a good job of clearing his wits a bit, as if concentrating on something else (even things so simple as catching a bottle and drinking water) allowed his brain to process other information in the background. Woojin feels better, and is very ready to listen to whatever advice she can give.

“It all comes down to _your_ dream, Woojin, not Rhymers. Not BNBs. Not the wet dreams of some thirsty fans commenting on your practice videos either. Give time and thought to your own dreams, to the things that move your heart and shape your soul. The answer will come.”

Woojin nods, because it’s all he can do. “Thanks, Noona. I… hooo—yep.”

She nods to him and makes to leave but pauses in the door. “Oh yeah, another thing. I’m a kickass dancer that you admire and respect, right? You see me get to dance every day, and help others do the same?”

“Of course I do. Y-you’re the best we have, your dancing is out of this world!”

She turns to him on her heel and points to her chest with her thumb in a surprisingly girlish way. “Eyes open, kid. You’re looking at a girl who once turned down the very offer you’ve been presented. I don’t regret it.”

Before Woojin can register his shock at this new information, she slips out the door with a laugh and a wave. This leaves him alone in the meeting room, in the quiet. He breathes. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. He’s okay.

...

Nope, he’s not okay. He has to get out of here. A rush of electric adrenaline is swiftly taking over his mental processes, and Woojin jumps out of his chair, quietly exits the meeting room and heads mindlessly towards his locker in the basement. At first his steps are clumsy but before he knows it, he’s kicked up the pace into a fast jog. After barreling straight into one of the veteran hip-hop artists on the label after making a blind turn, Woojin finally reaches his locker and grabs his belongings before making a beeline to one of the surreptitious backdoors to the building.

Phone in hand, thoughts aflurry, Woojin’s feet carry him out the back door into the hazy late summer sun.

His first impulse is to call Jihoon because this is a really big deal and he should know first. It’s been a month since Yoomi’s amputation and a week since she managed to find her balance and become happily ambulatory. Jihoon finished up his internship with PCA and chose not to accept their offer to come on as a fulltime employee. Now Jihoon has time on his hands and is choosing to spend quite a bit of that with Woojin, for the sake of Yoomi’s rehabilitation, of course.

Together they basically just play with her a variety of ways—tug of war, softballs, tennis balls, most recently frisbee. It feels like they’re just fucking around with a dog but apparently there’s a measure of scientific basis to projectile training. It seems to be working; Woojin has seen Yoomi leap a full meter in the air to snatch a frisbee with her three legs like she doesn’t even know she’s missing one.

For their part, Jihoon and Woojin are finding something of a balance as well even though they’re still caught somewhere between their past romance and this vague _thing_ they’re reshaping to be. They text occasionally but still haven’t actually reintroduced talking on the phone into their relationship. Whenever they see each other in person, Yoomi is there.

They’re not dating, but they're spending a lot of time and energy on each other. It’s as different as when they were dating as it is similar—the more things change, the more they seem to stay the same. Minus the physical stuff, of course. All in all it’s been the best month Woojin has had in a long time. Somehow he thinks Jihoon might actually feel the same, but he hasn’t asked. He knows he really should ask, and he will. Eventually. Right now isn’t exactly the time to talk about _them_ , because (oh, yeah, almost forgot) _Woojin could become a fucking idol._

Tossing his phone between his hands as he walks away from BNM, Woojin’s first impulse is to call Jihoon and talk though all of this. But he doesn’t.

 _“Hello hello, buddy-boy.”_ Hyungseob answers Woojin’s call with a knowing tone. _“I can hear your mind churning through the phone—what’s up?”_

As if he doesn’t _know._ As if BNBs manager isn’t with them right now telling them all about the meeting. “Is this why you’ve been acting… hesitant?”

He laughs. _“Hesitant is a good word for it. But not for having you with us! I would love to share my stage with you. It would be awesome, even fitting to have you in BNB. You’re already pretty much one of us, and this would just make it official.”_

“There’s a big 'ol 'but' here…”

_“BUT. Forgive me for being forward but I know you better than they do.”_

“That’s not forward, it’s fucking honest.” Woojin admits with a weak laugh. “What do you know that they don’t? Hell, what _I_ don’t?”

 _“You know it too, you’re just…”_ Hyungseob pauses, searching for a word. _“Frazzled right now.”_

“Help unfrazzle me.”

Somehow Woojin knows Hyungseob is shaking his head on his side. _“Okay, answer my questions with the first thing that comes to mind. Do you want to dance, or do you want to be seen dancing?”_

“Both.”

_“Valid. Okay here’s another one. Do you want to be a dancer, or do you want to be an idol?”_

“Danc—” The answer comes spilling out before Woojin can stop it, and Hyungseob just laughs over the line.

_“See, that’s why I haven’t been as obvious as the others about you being offered a spot in the group. We’re here because we want to be IDOLS, we want to sing and dance and perform on stage and in order to do so we’ve thrown away normal lives and normal relationships.”_

An image of Jihoon flashes through his head—his throwing a frisbee to Yoomi and turning to face Woojin with a laugh of triumph.

_“And this is not to say that you don’t also want those things, but I know you’ve never actually considered becoming an idol. It’s always been about dancing with you, like you’re doing it for your own sake—you NEED to do it. There’s almost a desperation about it, and it’s that intensity that makes you so GOOD, Woojin.”_

It’s easier to hear compliments from Hyungseob than Rhymer or his trainer, but this getting to be a bit much. Woojin is about to shut it down when Hyungseob finally gets to his point.

_“Here’s the 'but'. I can’t say for certain if that desperation would translate into becoming an idol, because it’s an entirely different thing, from motivation to workload. I’d love to go over more particulars—so would Youngmin, you should see him, he’s totally freaking out right now—but here’s the most obvious one. You don’t get to have a life. You don’t get to have a love. Love in general, screaming supportive love from multiple sources? Yes.”_

Hyungseob knows that Woojin and Jihoon are spending a lot of time together, but he’s good enough not to bring it up here even though the implication is clear as a bell.

_“But A Love? No. Nothing that lives in the light.”_

“I… okay.” Woojin mutters, shaking out his hair. “Thanks. I… fuck, man. I could be an idol. How weird is that?”

 _“Not as weird as you think."_ A new voice speaks up: Donghyun. Woojin must be on speaker. _“You’re handsome and charming and talented. Pretty sure that adds up nicely.”_

“Ugh, I don’t like hearing you compliment me, hyung. How long have I been on speaker?”

 _“Since Hyungseob-ah started unfrazzling you._ ” That’s Youngmin.

Suddenly this seems like a lot, snowballing like Rhymer physically tossed Woojin down a mountain slope. “Okay, I… thanks. All of you. I hope you guys know none of this would have happened if you hadn’t accepted me so well. I don’t know… anything. I need to just…”

 _“You need time.”_ Youngmin again.

“I need to go. I’ll be in touch, I swear. Just… thanks. I love you, pretty boys.”

 _“We know and we love you too, no matter what you decide.”_ Hyungseob says with a note of finality.

They end the call and Woojin sighs deeply, holding the cool phone screen to his forehead. He doesn’t even know where to begin, though he supposes talking to his BNB besties was actually a good first step.

“Nothing that lives in the light, huh?” He mutters to himself, already dialing Jihoon.

It takes a few rings but Jihoon picks up with a light, _“_ _Hmm?”_

“You’ll never fucking guess what just happened to me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again for going into a catatonic state of winter darkness and self doubt. i started break a leg about a year ago and its taken too long. thats my fault. so this is me trying to remedy. 
> 
> sorry
> 
> next is last


	6. breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things... work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well  
> here it is  
> the final chapter of the final part of sexy bandits  
> corresponding with the final day of wanna one  
> we're all feeling shit  
> different things  
> powerful things  
> i love w1  
> we all do
> 
> hoooooooooomygod

Woojin sits in his red hatchback, windows rolled up and car turned off. It’s a hazy day, cloudy and hot, and in the handful of minutes he’s been parked in the lot of Ememoh the temperature in the car has risen uncomfortably. Yet he sits, belt still buckled, fingers clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

It’s been six days since Rhymer approached him (more correctly, had him summoned) to become a member of BNB. To stand on stage with close, true friends. To become an idol. _To be allowed to draw attention with his dance._ No, not allowed, encouraged. Expected.

Because that’s it, isn’t it? The point of Hyungseob’s questions a week ago, when he helped Woojin sort out his situation. _Do you want to dance, or do you want to be seen dancing?_

Both, he said. And he meant it. While he does indeed get to dance his bones into rubble and muscles into goo as he always wanted, in his current situation he doesn’t get to go full out. His true presence and ability aren’t _allowed_ to be seen. It was his brimming star power that brought him this strange opportunity in the first place (Woojin does quietly agree with Rhymer that it was only a matter of time before his talent spilled over) but therein lies the quiet threat.

Maybe not a threat but an ultimatum: become an idol and be able to _really_ show his shit, or remain a dancer and rein in his ability for the betterment of the group. Of course it’s more complicated than that—there are other factors at work here, other considerations as to his own career progression within BNM or outside of it.

This is big league shit with life changing ramifications, but Woojin isn’t a child. He might hyperventilate over a new Pokemon game and compete against himself over how many grapes he can fit into his mouth at once—27 and counting—but he’s also a responsible adult with arguably more life experience than many of his peers.

He has to make this decision for himself, he’s terrifyingly aware of that, but he still recruited a few advisors along the way. Daehwi, Hyungseob, Jihoon—hell, Woojin even reached out to Daniel, who was actually the most help in plotting out the way his own life as a dancer could go. They helped him boil the issues down to a single list, the tried-and-true Pros and Cons.

It’s actually written down, scratched messily on a bar napkin with a pen about five words away from running out of ink: _Ps & Cs of Jumping Into Idoldom. _The napkin list is folded neatly into a square in his back pocket, a continuous figurative asskicking from the facts themselves.

“Okay, we got this.” Woojin takes his hands off the steering wheel and slaps them against his thighs in a quick, numbing beat. “Fuck, who’s ‘we’? I’m we. Royal We.”

Yoomi isn’t with him today so it really is just Woojin. He’s still muttering to himself as he unbuckles himself and takes his key out of the ignition. With a grunt of effort he heaves the door open and breathes in the rush of slightly-cooler air.

 _Why the fuck am I nervous?_ He berates himself, slamming the door shut with enough noise to spook a lonely sparrow from a bush on the boulevard. He’s already made his choice—the napkin of higher-order decision making screams from his back pocket. Hell, if he’s being honest with himself, Woojin has known his answer for days now.

But this interaction he’s walking towards is different from the resolution of his inner decision-making. While he may not be walking into his one-week-later meeting with Rhymer yet, this is the penultimate step. This will be the first time he’s phrased his decision to the universe, confirmed it into being.

This decision is to be witnessed by the only thing that’s ever been more important than his dream: An ex-baby forever-barthief snake boy. Jihoon, requesting to meet, well... where they first met.

Woojin’s musings carry his feet across the half-full parking lot to the sidewalk right outside Ememoh—the closest he’s been to his old workplace since Jisung barred his entry the better part of a year ago. Seeing the restaurant bustling in all it’s brunchtime glory fills Woojin with a soft pride and longing, a feeling he decides to lean into instead of reject outright. The nostalgia alone is enough to temporarily mute the flurry of pros and cons on loop in his brain.

With a low whistle Woojin appraises the front door and smiles widely at how little the place has changed since he’s been here last. I mean, sure, the velvet curtains are now poppy instead of scarlet, the patio has been expanded to fit three more 4-tops, and the ever-present water bowl for passing dogs has been upgraded to an expensive-looking automatic refill water fountain. So, yes, technically things have changed in a year.

But most of it is the same—a relaxed patio atmosphere interspersed by the occasional shrieks of laughter from bougie brunch goers, most of who are at least two mimosas into their meal. He can smell the kitchen from here, familiar  even though Minhyun has since left and opened up his own restaurant across town. As Woojin hovers outside the door a server bursts out of it, balancing three dishes of French Toast and one Huevos Rancheros with anxious competency. The sights and sounds and smells play a nostalgic medley on Woojin’s heartstrings and with a strong nod he pushes through the glass door to the restaurant proper.

If the patio brought memories of his past to the forefront of his mind like a gentle wave, actually entering Ememoh is the equivalent of getting hit by a bullet train. Most of the original artwork is still on the walls—even the strangely tasteful taxidermy fish is still hanging proudly—though Jisung has done a full overhaul of the lights, substituting hanging Edison bulbs for the original cream globe fixtures. Little changes here and there, but nothing resembling a measurable aesthetic shift. Fuck, it even _smells_ the same.

Most of the late-brunch attendees dine on the patio although there are a few handfuls of people who choose to remain inside, safe and insect-free within air conditioned comfort. Woojin is wholly unsurprised when he recognizes a particular couple sitting at one of the romantic 2-top booths—an adulterous pair that have always used Ememoh as one of their clandestine meeting places away from their respective significant others. The woman in the couple catches his eye and after a moment recognition lights her eyes and she gives him a small wave that Woojin finds more touching than perhaps it should be. He is remembered here, even if it’s been the better part of a year since he was allowed on the premises.

Jisung only had to deny him entry once and he never returned. Woojin might be intense, foolhardy, and too often dumb as a rock but he never oversteps, never breaks boundaries once they’ve been set. He breaks other things, like relationships and the occasional rule. Maybe a nose or two, but only in his imagination. Once someone has drawn a line, Woojin does his utmost not to cross it.

So when Jihoon suggested they meet today at his old workplace, he knew meant more than just getting together for a drink and a talk. It rings of forgiveness and acceptance and beginnings and endings and now Woojin is _really_ touched now that he’s here. So much that he unwittingly brings a hand to his heart and takes a deep breath, standing still and very much in the way of the door.

This becomes apparent when the same harried waitress attending to the patio bursts her way back through the front door, muttering under her breath with three too many dirty plates in hand. Woojin has enough sense to jump out of the way, pivoting around by spinning on his heel and taking a rather artful hop-skip out of her warpath. He quickly realizes he doesn’t recognize the server when he takes a better look and his eyes follow the black-clothed waitress as she speeds along back to the kitchen with a trajectory that leads his eyes to the bar.

Oho?

 _Nothing_ is as familiar as the man Woojin spys donning his old bartending apron. He’s not the tallest, currently with his back turned to the front door as he (incorrectly, Woojin notes with a shitty grin) pours a pint of what from this distance looks like a summer ale. He recognizes those wide shoulders from all the times he’s ever snuggled his chin on them. He recognizes the unbelievably narrow waist from all the times he’s curled his fingers around it and pulled him closer than close.

Ye~ep, hair a touch too long, the top third of his fluffy locks tied in a small, off center ponytail that sticks up with the slightest curl—its an unreasonably cute hairstyle only thrown up in times of mild, manageable stress. Especially when it’s time to focus. All of it, all of _him_ , recognizable down to the hairs on his head.  

But why the fuck is Park Jihoon tending bar? _MY bar,_ shoots through Woojin’s mind and he actually laughs out loud at the thought. This is turning into quite the reverse of their first meeting but before he gets pulled under the tide of sappy sentiment Jihoon turns and deposits the pint of ale on the service counter for the waitress to pick up. He’s stressfully handsome in all black like this, the thigh-length apron wrapped around his waist only accentuating the severe angles of his chest and shoulders. Woojin briefly wonders if he ever managed to look that good in the uniform during the two years he wore it.

Probably not.

They make eye contact and a large measure of six days worth of accumulated pressure on Woojin’s heart simply drifts away. Jihoon looks at him with aggravating ambivalence for a moment before his eyes soften honestly, along with his posture. They stay like this, half a restaurant apart, before Jihoon snaps out of the staring contest when he realizes something.  

“Ah! Oh shit! Wow, yes, thank _god_ you’re here.” He cries out, expression brightening manically as he bounces to the edge of the bar and grabs the counter with white-knuckled intensity. “Someone ordered a Sexy Bandit and I… I have no clue how to make it. This recipe book is actually… well it’s poorly written, sorry, I know _you_ wrote it. Which, well, by all rights means I should be able to decipher things like _firebend the needles until you can taste them in your nose_ but _what_ does that actually mean? Do I singe them? Do I apply flame until they’re actually on fire or…? Damn, sorry I’m just a little bitty bit stressed right now—"

Woojin seats himself at the bar, plopped on a stool before he realizes he moved as he cracks a huge smirk at this new development. As if to double down on the fact that circles have no ends (and apparently neither do they) that’s the very drink Woojin tried to impress Jihoon with before even knowing his name.   

“—and I’d rather set fire to myself than ask Jisung how to—” Jihoon stops his anxious blustering when he notices that the only other person at the bar, a sweet-looking middle-aged woman having an omelette and a Bloody Mary, is definitely watching Jihoon break down into an unprofessional mess and may or may not be judging.

“Uh… huh. Yeah, sorry I’m… new.” He explains to the guest with a sad wince.

The woman just chuckles good-naturedly before raising her half-finished Bloody Mary. “My drink is perfect, dear.”

Jihoon crumples in relief at this, draping his torso on the bar between them and resting his chin on his hands cheekily before meeting Woojin’s eyes from below and darkly muttering, “I hate all of this.”

Instead of phrase the question on his mind— _why on earth are you behind the bar—_ Woojin balances an elbow on the bartop and rests his chin that palm, slightly mirroring Jihoon. “You look good doing it, though.”

A small spark of challenge flicks across Jihoon’s face and Woojin mentally girds himself for some stubborn rebuttal or backhand snark when Jihoon hits him with an unexpected compliment.

“Only half as good as you did.” He flashes a smile and there’s nothing but honesty and mirth behind it. “Then again, you had the benefit of being cool and competent on top of looking fine in black on black on black.”

 _As if you don’t_. Again, Woojin doesn’t say this. He just raises his eyebrows and looks around the bar, partly to lay the groundwork for the question of _why the fuck_ but also because the more he looks at Jihoon the more he wants to touch him. The more he wants to, the more he knows he shouldn’t.

And because Woojin respects boundaries, that he knows he shouldn’t means he won’t. But _fuck_ if he doesn’t want to grab Jihoon’s hands and tug him just an inch closer so he can toy with the ponytail and kiss his fucking face. Their relationship—what remains as well as what grows new—has been in a quiet, comfortable limbo ever since Yoomi’s amputation, when Jihoon took his hand and stayed by his side.

Which is another rather lovely way to say they don’t know what they are or what they’re turning into.

Jihoon has been making moves, little bouts of daring like needlessly holding his hand and letting his gazes and touches linger. They call each other again, comfortable to discuss anything from gossip to all the shit that went down. They’ve even talked about the final, awful beat of their relationship, about what went wrong (and maybe right).  

But this was all before the seven-day ultimatum. Ever since Woojin was given the opportunity to become an idol Jihoon has casually but determinedly avoided talking about _them_ during his deliberation process. Woojin is grateful for this, the fact that Jihoon is aware adding the weight of _what does this mean for US_ is simply too much to bear and unfair to consider. This is Woojin’s choice. It’s not about Jihoon, it can’t be.

Intellectually Woojin knows he shouldn’t make a decision based on a potential for true, whole reconciliation with the love of his life, but the fact still stands. There’s a certain bullet point under the Con side of his Idoldom list that’s underlined, circled, and bookended with asterisks. If Woojin becomes an idol, he can’t love in the light. He can’t _love Jihoon_ in the light.

Instead of spill his entire goddamn heart all over the bartop, Woojin continues beating around the bush, indicating Jihoon and then the bar with his hand. “Um. Why the fuck?”

Jihoon’s cheeks spring up into a tired, goofy grin and he tilts his head where it rests on his hands. “Don’t have much else to do now that I’ve ditched PCA.”

Woojin nods at this but keeps his expression twisted with incredulity. It’s not like Jihoon doesn’t already have a job—a strikingly high-paying one watching, training, and walking dogs for the wealthy and elite—and generally speaking, he has always liked to spend whatever leisure time he can eke from his schedule gaming or sleeping and certainly _not_ bartending.

“Yeah, but… I mean…” Woojin takes his chin out of his palm in order to cross his arms and lean further onto the bar. He’s still higher than Jihoon but they’ve narrowed the distance. “You’re not the service industry type.”

With a small smile Jihoon rises out of his slouch so he can match Woojin’s gaze and drums his fingers rhythmically along the wooden bar. “Says you.”

“ _Said_ you, many many times.”

“Jisung’s worried about me. I mean he always is, every minute of every day, but he thought I’d go crazy in aimlessness so he offered a chance to pick up a new skill.”

“Bartending.” Woojin questions monotonously, eyebrows disappearing into his fringe.

Jihoon snorts and pushes himself fully off the bar. “Don’t go getting all territorial on me.” He pauses and laughs at himself. “I say to one of the most territorial people I’ve ever known.”

That’s unfair but not exactly incorrect. “You may be right _but_ you also poured that ale wrong so I think it's kosher to be a bit territorial over my old profession.”

“It’s only my second day! Day two of a five day probationary period I’m _preeetty_ sure I’m going to flunk out of. This is the worst. It’s not even busy and it’s still the worst.”

“I, just… how does one pour a pint wrong? It’s instinctual. It’s fucking _physics_.”

They’re dancing around the true point of today’s meeting with such graceful collaboration that it might as well be a modern duet. But that’s nothing new. Jihoon slips into violent form and mimes slapping Woojin with a cardboard coaster. He completes the play fight by actually spinning the coaster at his face with a quick flick of the wrist.

After blocking the projectile with a quick _shah!_ Woojin’s barkeeping instinct kicks in and he ducks under the bar to pick up the coaster where it landed. They fall silent as he retrieves it, a pause heavy with consideration. It’s not quite tension, more a deliberate patience grown from a mutual understanding that the elephant in the room is _mighty_ _important_ and needs to be treated as such. Woojin rises back up, coaster in hand, and tosses it in a high arc over the bar, missing the small recycling bin by a handsbreadth.

More stalling. Woojin has his future to breathe into life here, they should probably get to it. He opens his mouth but finds his declaration caught in his throat and fails to utter it. Another moment passes.

“Oh! Uh, what do you want to drink?” Jihoon suddenly asks with a small burst of professional shame, finally remembering that he has a job he needs to be doing. Nostalgia licks at Woojin’s guts and he very obviously purses his lips to avoid breaking out into a giddy mess. “How about a pear—”

“If you order a pear cider I’m going to kick your ass.” Jihoon deadpans, clearly just as aware of the parallels of their first meeting to this current moment. “Partly because that’s lame, mostly because that keg isn’t even tapped. Are you going to make me traverse the spooky cellar just for a gag?”

Woojin sticks up his nose and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. “It’s not a gag, it’s a _memory_.”

His Pros & Cons list seems to beat with its own heart within his back pocket.

“A good memory.” Jihoon mutters quietly, eyes flicking down to his hands with a soft, fond smile.

Every observation, every instinct, every heartbeat Woojin has had since _meeting_ Park Jihoon is informing him that they’re still in love. That Jihoon is choosing to forgive him and he wants to try this—everything _this_ is—once more. Forgiveness without forgetting what transpired, what drove them apart. Woojin is ready if Jihoon is, which is a much more thrilling notion than becoming an idol has ever been.

Woojin realizes he’s staring at Jihoon and hastily averts his eyes to appraise what Ememoh has on tap. “The IPA then.”

It’s also the second drink Jihoon had that fateful afternoon. His eyes flash in fake-irritation and Woojin raises his hands in front of his chest in defense. “I’m not trying to recreate the bartheft, I swear! You _know_ I like IPAs!”

Scoffing, Jihoon turns on his heel, his ponytail bouncing sweetly as he stands on his tip toes in order to reach the pint glasses. There’s a stool behind the bar for this very purpose but there’s no way Jihoon’s pride would allow him to use it. He fills up the pint—inexpertly yet again, it’s at least half foam—before swinging back around and setting it down in front of Woojin without a coaster.

Second day or not, Jihoon is a bad bartender. Woojin is about to reach for the pint regardless of its lack of easy drinkability when Jihoon snatches it back, sploshing a bit of the foam on the bar.

“Ah! Nope! ID pleasenowthankyou.” He calls, waving a forbidding finger.

Rolling his eyes hard enough to upset the earth’s rotation, Woojin digs his hand into his pocket for his wallet and slips out the ID. “You know, from my perspective our first meeting was a _bad_ memory.”

Jihoon looks like he wants to toss the drink in his face and Woojin just laughs at him, handing over his (very legal) identification. “Come _on_ , you almost got me fired!”

“Yeah but... you asked me out.”

“Not at the time. Eventually. Also I’m pretty sure Yoomi lead the charge on that.” Woojin wiggles his eyebrows.

The Pros and Cons list still beats in Woojin’s pocket, pulses coming quicker. Oh wait, no, that’s just his own heart conducting a slowburn drumroll.

Jihoon snatches the ID out of his hand, taking time to appraise it with far too much attention. A corner of his mouth dips up but he refrains from cackling outright at the picture. Woojin has gotten a new license since they broke up and the picture is beyond awful—it looks something between mid-sneeze and mid-sneer and even Woojin doesn’t know how he managed to show such a perfectly unpleasant face during the split second they took the picture.

Handing it back with a small smirk, Jihoon notices the foam on the beer has receded by now and turns around again to fill up the remainder from the tap, incorrectly yet again. Woojin cannot abide by this any longer.

“Wow, just… just tip the glass at an angle. 45 degrees, and, yes! There it is, that’s it—” Woojin schools and praises but stops short when Jihoon pours too much and all the foam along with some beer brims over. “I… nothing. I have no words, Jihoon.”

Jihoon wipes off the side of the pint with a clean dish towel and finally brings it back, pursing his lips in embarrassment. “Chill out. You ever think you might be making me nervous?”

Ah. Actually, no, Woojin hasn’t. It dawns on him that Jihoon might be trying to impress him so he backs off the teasing, taking the glass from him before Jihoon can place it on the counter. The tips of their fingers touch and they share a ghost of a smile.

“How am I making you nervous?” Woojin asks. He has too much on his mind and doesn't have the bandwidth to piece together why Jihoon might be on edge around him.

“Well…” Jihoon breaks eye contact in favor of fussing around with the nearest stack of coasters. “I mean, you know why you’re here. Why we’re doing this today. You know the… the plan. This is a big fucking deal for you.”

Woojin might be imagining it but there’s a quiet, _and me_ that hangs unspoken on the end of that.

But yes he knows the plan is for Woojin to make his decision here, with a witness. Or rather, to utter a decision that’s already been made. They decided this a few days ago, when Woojin rang Jihoon to air his thoughts against a reliable sounding board. The most important sounding board in his life. Jihoon let Woojin talk, offering steering questions without adding any of his own personal input or opinion. He finished the call (a two hour chat) with a simple, _“I’ll be here no matter what you decide. Just swear to me that I’ll be the first person you tell.”_

He takes a small breath. “Yeah, I know the plan.”

In the pause that follows the rolling of Woojin’s heartbeat finds its crescendo and hits it hard, leaving silence in its wake.

“I’m not going to become be an idol.” He states plainly.

Because there are three times as many Cons than Pros on the list in his pocket, so biased against becoming an idol that it’s almost laughable that he even considered in the first place.

If Woojin was hoping for a reaction from Jihoon, boy is he disappointed. He just nods and leans on his hand with inscrutable countenance. As always, Jihoon is a genius at controlling his expression. “You sure?”

“I am not going to become an idol.”

Because the most important Con on the list is right in front of him. He can’t love Jihoon the way the man deserves to be loved if Woojin’s shackled to public perception and fandom whimsy. But there are other downsides too, things like, _I’m camera-shy,_ and, _idols have an unsteady source of income._

Jihoon searches Woojin’s eyes for a hint of indecision or fabrication and finds nothing of the sort. He lets out a long, quiet sigh, seeming to release an entire universe of tension with it.

“I’m glad.”

GLAD. GLAd? He’s _glad_. Woojin wants to spin his barstool round and around like a top until he pops off and flies through the ceiling. He wants to rocket off into space and kiss the moon. Jihoon is _not_ a selfish person so the very omittance of his opinion is everything. Fuck, Woojin somehow knew—felt, decided, understood, all of it—that Jihoon didn’t think he wanted to be an idol to begin with, but gave him the outlet and opportunity to come to his own conclusion.

But then there was that giant sigh, a relaxing of his features so honest and fluid Woojin knows he’s not faking it. This is more than relief that Woojin made a good decision for himself—it’s that Woojin made a good decision for _them_.

“Still nervous?” Woojin asks with a stupid wiggle of his eyebrows. _I love you I love you I love you._

Jihoon lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, but for a different reason.”

He makes a jerky, stilted hand motion, as if he wanted to reach over the bar to hold Woojin’s hand but decided against it mid-movement. After a moment’s hesitation Jihoon finds his courage and commits, hooking his middle and pointer finger around Woojin’s same digits, the beginnings of a blush gathering along his neck.

“So,” He begins slowly. “You don’t want to be an idol.”

“I do not.”

“What _do_ you want to do?”

Woojin pulls Jihoon slightly closer by the fingers and intertwines their fingers with a growing grin. “I’m already doing it.”

Jihoon is blushing like Woojin hasn’t seen in years, so old it feels new. “G-gross.”

“You love it.” _You love me and I love you and everything makes sense again._

Humming to himself, Jihoon raises their joined hands so they both rest their weight on their elbows. It looks like they’re about to start arm wrestling and if that isn’t the exact snapshot of their _entire_ dynamic, Woojin will eat his own face. Slower than slow, Jihoon twists their hands so that Woojin’s fingers are facing him and brings their locked fingers closer to his side of the bar.

Slowly, surely, _finally_ , Jihoon brings Woojin’s woven fingers to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. Is it possible to burn from within and be numb from without? Clearly it is because that is Woojin’s entire world right now.

_This is it. This is fucking it._

Woojin waits for Jihoon to give him his turn like some second stage of a mating ritual. Just as slowly, he drags their hands back across the bar towards him but instead of mirroring the hand kiss, Woojin clenches his fingers into more of a fist which in turn causes Jihoon to do the same. He brings Jihoon’s knuckles to his brow and uses them to punch his forehead three times as slowly and meaningfully as Jihoon kissed his own fingers.

Before Jihoon can get worried about his lack of clear answer, Woojin brings the same fingers to his lips and keeps them there. The whole dance takes time and trust and belief and for the first time in almost a year, Woojin knows they finally share all three things. Belief that they belong together, trust that they’re going to do it better this time, and most importantly the time they have and will continue to share.

“Go out with me.” Jihoon says suddenly. It’s not a question but it’s softer than a demand.

Woojin brings Jihoon’s fingers away and nods softly. “Okay.”

And somehow… that’s that? It can’t be. “Why do I feel like there should be some success music playing in the background here? Some confetti or a flower backdrop or _something_.”

“Because you’re a stupid romantic.” Jihoon mutters, blushing but pleased.

This is all well and good, albeit a tad anticlimactic for his dramatic ass, but Woojin still has a whole ocean to get off his chest. “I’m not done apologizing—probably never will be. But no sorries here. My dream was never to be an idol, it was just to dance.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Jihoon mentions with a small, barely-there grin.

“Still gonna.” Woojin flashes his snaggletooth. “I dream to dance, to be on stage, to express things that cannot be expressed any other way. But ever since meeting you every dream I have, every future I envision has you in it. _Is_ you.”

Jihoon’s blush returns. “You’re embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re in love. You asked me what I want, and it’s you. This. Us.”

“Me too.” Jihoon bites his lip and looks at their hands, still twisted together in completion.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want what we _had_. I want…” Woojin takes a deep breath, squeezing Jihoon’s hand to get him to look at him again. His beautiful eyes flick up, slightly alarmed at Woojin’s utterance but trusting him to continue.

Continue he does. “Not what we had, I want what we can become. I want to understand our fuck ups, to learn from them and use what we learned, together. I don’t even know how to _do_ that, but I want to try.”

In lieu of answering Jihoon nods once, then twice, then half a dozen times. A small smile lights his face gradually, like a dimmer switch. “Let’s become a better us.”

“A better us.” Woojin repeats with a strong nod. He can’t help but bring Jihoon’s fingers back to his lips for a quick peck. Then another.

Jihoon giggles before stuffing away his cheer and looking at Woojin with a sudden sharpness.

“If you break up with me again, I’ll have you killed.”

He definitely means that, but it doesn’t stop Woojin from making a joke of it. “What, not going to do me the courtesy of murdering me yourself? Where’s your dignity, Jihoon?”

Snorting, Jihoon finally drags his fingers out of Woojin’s in order to put both hands on his hips. “And give you the gift of having my face be the last you see? Hell, you hardly deserve that now.”

Woojin laughs once.

“... I mean it.” Jihoon mutters under his breath.

“I know.”

In the silence that follows Woojin takes a long draught of his drink and Jihoon purses his lips in thought. Suddenly he jumps in place like a spooked rabbit, eyes wide and alarmed.

“Oh _fuck_. I forgot about the Sexy Bandit! I actually have to make… oh man it’s been a while now since it was ordered, wha-what do I do?”

Snorting enough to spray a bit of beer unattractively, Woojin wipes his mouth with a muffled laugh. “Just follow the instructions, you can do it.”

“Why can’t you do it for me?” Jihoon whispers, shrinking his posture to seem helpless even though he’s not. It’s probably going to work on Woojin eventually but for now he stands true.

“Because you _can_ do it. I’ll talk you through it.” He mutters back tenderly, nodding.

The Sexy Bandit is one of the more derivative cocktails on the menu, basically just a Negroni with a heavy hand of sweet vermouth and a smoking rosemary sprig garnish along with the traditional orange peel. Traditional Negronis can be a smarting kick in the mouth for those who abhor bitterness, so Jisung’s version of the drink substitutes Campari for its sweeter little sister, Aperol, and in doing so brings out more of a softer, orange taste. Jihoon hates the drink even in its sweeter form but Woojin quite likes it.

Jihoon looks incredulous but nods back at Woojin, sucking in his bottom lip before turning to the tattered, laminated cocktail recipe book the approximate size of a dictionary. “O-okay. I got this. First, what’s a rocks glass?”

“Lowest shelf, next to the cordials.”

“Second, what are cordials?”

Woojin sighs dramatically, about two whole seconds away from taking it all back and hopping over the bar to do it himself. “The small stemmed glasses. The pretty ones.”

Eventually finding the right tools, Jihoon snatches a rocks glass and sets it delicately on his side of the bar before turning back to the book. “M’kay, we need gin—”

“Tanqueray, middle shelf. Green bottle.”

“—Aperol—”

“Under the bar in the ingredients fridge. Bright screaming orange liquor.”

“—sweet vermouth—”

“Same fridge, dark wine red.”

Jihoon brings the ingredients and sets them aside the glass, throwing Woojin a judgemental glare which is pretty rich coming someone who is in the middle of being tutored. “Now what?”

“Get the measuring shot—no, not that one, the _other_ —yeah okay, so 1 ounce gin, 1.5 ounce Aperol—”

Jihoon reaches the edge of his temper with this and lightly slaps his palms down on the bar, hissing, “Enough of this. Get your little butt behind this bar and help me like a real boyfriend would.”

With an indulgent sigh that masks how touched and thrilled he is to be called boyfriend again, Woojin looks around the bar and over his shoulder at the front of house for anyone who might be watching. He catches the eye of the woman at the bar, who is watching he and Jihoon like one might their favorite drama. It’s a little unnerving but she’s clearly a fan of what just transpired so Woojin decides to risk it.

Barely taking the time to slip off his stool, Woojin balances his hands on the bartop and powerfully vaults himself over it, taking Jihoon by surprise at the suddenness of the action. He lands neatly behind the bar with a small bounce, rubbing his hands together before moving to wash them at the small sink above the ingredients fridge.

“At least do me a solid and prep the garnishes.” He requests, already rolling his sleeves back. “That’s right, you get to use the flamethrower.”

It’s called a culinary butane torch, but Woojin has never referred to it as such. Jihoon’s eyes flash, excited for the chance to set something on fire. “Deal. Rosemary and orange peel.”

They work side-by-side, occasionally bumping hips. Woojin’s hands move in a controlled rush compared to Jihoon’s clumsiness with the peeler. The drink itself is mixed before Jihoon actually finishes peeling the orange rind and (because he’s a giddy asshole) Woojin leans languidly against the bar with a shit-eating grin, waiting for Jihoon to catch up.

The peel itself is a bit too large and thick than regulation but Woojin lets it go. “Kay, prep the flamethrower.”

Jihoon turns to him, rosemary sprig in hand and the torch in the other. With a small click he ignites it, jumping a bit at the suddenness of the jet of flame. “Oh shit.”

“Because you’re a fucking novice, why don’t you put the sprig in a glass to keep your hands away when you singe it.” Woojin advises, already placing a highball glass in front of him. Having burned his own fingers a few times holding the sprig with one hand while applying the fire, Woojin is not about to let Jihoon make the same mistake.

Finally getting the hang of it, Jihoon is soon applying the flame to the rosemary, wrinkling his nose in delight. He’s so cute that Woojin forgoes basic safety and loosely backhugs him as he works and almost coos out loud when Jihoon relaxes into his embrace. Smoke starts to billow a bit (Jihoon is going a bit too hard with the flame) but Woojin doesn’t mind, doesn’t care about anything right now besides the warmth and energy between them.

Everything is right now. Woojin’s decision is made and his world feels a bit easier, more complete. The smell of smoky rosemary fills his nose as the needles begin to glow orange. “I love you."

“I love you too.” Jihoon mutters back.

“I love you _but_ you’re about to reduce the rosemary to cinders.”

With a scoff, Jihoon shuts off the butane torch and waves some of the remaining smoke away. Unable to help himself, Woojin snuggles closer and wraps his arms tighter around Jihoon’s waist possessively. Without direction Jihoon rubs the orange peel around the rim of the Sexy Bandit glass, drops it in the booze, and then snuggles the still-smoking rosemary next to the single large ice cube in the drink with a small, “Huh.”

“Yaaaay, you did it.” Woojin trills quietly, hooking his chin over Jihoon’s shoulder from behind and rocking them side to side.

“Yes, let’s just gloss over the fact that you did most of it. This is all me.” Jihoon shoots back, just as quiet as he places the Sexy Bandit a meter away on the service counter. “I’m the next bartending god.”

Chortling, Woojin sneaks a kiss on Jihoon’s neck. Then another and more and more. The lady at the bar is trying to be subtle about it but she can’t stop her gaze from flicking to them every few seconds in embarrassment and delight. She’s definitely having the best brunch of her life which is _fine_ because so is Woojin.

Apparently it’s hard to be professional when someone is koala-glomping all of you and kissing up your throat, and Jihoon mutters, _“fuck it_ ,” before twisting slightly in Woojin’s hold in order to wordlessly direct him higher and steal his lips with his own kiss. Just one. They part but stay close, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

“Wow.”

Uh oh. That’s a familiar voice.

“Well for starters, you’re _def-_ initely fired.”

They both turn their heads as one to see Jisung standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hand on his hip and danger in his eyes. “And Woojin, I’d fire _you_ if you didn’t already quit. Hell, I’m still going to fire you. Goodbye.”

Woojin is in the middle of piecing together a joke with things like _fire_ and _flamethrower_ and maybe _smoked out_ , complete with the butane torch as a visual aid, but Jihoon interrupts this process. “Thank god, I fucking hate this job.”

Jisung bristles at this and waves Jihoon off with a dainty hand but his eyes stay fixed on Woojin’s. He’s wary, and that’s putting it lightly. Jisung actually looks like he’s contemplating how to get away with murdering him, but there’s something else. A bit of relief maybe? Jisung might be the least outwardly terrifying of the Power Cousins but he’s also the most sensitive, most prone to thinking ahead and synthesizing information from multiple sources. Past, present, and future; Woojin’s side of this and Jihoon’s; caution and relief. Happiness.

“I’m not going to ask about this because _Jihoon you are going to tell me later_ ,” Jisung starts, voice dripping out of its normal warmth into something surprisingly terrifying, “but hear this. If you hurt him again Woojin, you’ll never be seen or heard from again. Do you understand?”

Woojin just nods. With a little hum of consideration Jihoon snakes out of their embrace and faces his cousin with his hands on his hips. They are _both_ terrifying. “And if you hurt _him_ , hyung, I’ll have your head.”

Wow. “You’re so violent.” Woojin mutters, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and you’re _mine_.” Jihoon growls, not even looking at him. In another moment he softens. “And yes, hyung, we’ll talk later. Bring the cocktail kit.”

Jisung nods, his guard still up. With one lingering look at Woojin he makes a shooing motion at them both. “Okay, okay. Get out. This is a quality establishment and my guests don’t need two stupid boys making out on top of their pancakes.”

“Speak for yourself.” Mutters the lady at the bar, causing Woojin to burst out cackling.

Before Jihoon can do it himself, Woojin unties the strings of his apron and slips it off before tossing it on the inside bar counter.

“And now you’re undressing each other. Out! Out, you hooligans!” Jisung heckles, snapping back into his usual brightness.

They hasten to get away, Woojin taking the lead and pulling Jihoon by the hand as they slip out of the bar. Woojin takes the time to bow slightly to Jisung out of habit (and respect, a goddamn ocean of respect) and now it’s Jihoon pulling Woojin along towards the exit.

“I’ll text you later, hyung.” Jihoon calls when they reach the front door.

“You bett—hey! _HEY_. Did you even _pay for that beer?_ ” Jisung screeches at them.

Jihoon laughs stupidly, throwing a little wave at his cousin while Woojin just smiles widely. “Of course we didn’t pay, hyung. Bye~e!”

The door shuts behind them in the middle of Jisung hollering _“I HATE BOTH OF YOU”,_ and now they just stand on the patio, hand-in-hand, looking at each other.

“Now what?” Jihoon asks, eyes bright with thrill. He looks up to do absolutely anything.

So is Woojin, as long as he’s with Jihoon. “Suppose we can make out in my car.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of frenzy fucking in my apartment, but yours is a good first step.”

  

~

 

It’s now winter, half a year since they figured out their shit and gave each other another try. Woojin has choreographed three BNB dance routines and collaborated on a handful more outside of the company. Jihoon’s dog-walking job has blossomed into an actual business where he trains dogs for the rich and famous. They’re working with Sungwoon to raise funds and make the business a Thing. They live together in an entirely new apartment large enough for two lovebirds and a three-legged dog.  

 

And then all of the sudden it’s summer, and _Cloud CaNine_ is open for business and bringing in much more money than they ever believed was possible. Tapping into Woojin’s entertainment industry connections, Jisung’s restaurateur grapevine, and Sungwoon’s mind-boggling social and professional network, Jihoon finds himself with more clients than he can handle. Hell, he even trains and takes care of Rhymer’s dog.

  

Then it’s autumn, and Woojin proposes to Jihoon in the light of a full Harvest Moon. Jihoon doesn’t technically say yes, he just kisses him hard until they both run out of breath.

 

 

(Oh yeah, and Yoomi actually does get that cyborg leg.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are no words to express how touched and impressed and amazed i am that you guys read this. stuck with it. encouraged me and reminded me that this story, this 2park is beloved. they always will be and always have each other. 
> 
> just like wannables will always have our 11 boys, we'll have each other too
> 
> support all the boys  
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> 
> if this work touched you or pissed you off or made you cry smile laugh agonize ANYTHING please let me know, ple~ease comment 
> 
> also catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenoscreamingo)
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> i love you all. thanks for returning the sentiment


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